It’s Monday morning, nearing the end of July.
My chequing account is overdrawn because of the doctor’s bill, so I have to scramble and find a way to get the money into my account so the bank won’t bounce the cheque.
My son — the walking dynamo — is off to daycare so he can astound them with his agility and balancing skills. Oh yeah, and his eating skills too; always amazing with his eating capacity. DId I fail to mention his climbing ability? The boy is a part-time monkey, oui?
I am still looking for a flat, but rent prices in Barbados are nothing short of ridiculous. I cannot imagine why people thing a one bedroom flat is reasonably worth $1500. It makes independence an expensive prospect.
After two years of living with other people, I am however willing to pay that if it means I have my own space and the landlord respects my privacy. I am sick of living with other people, and biting my tongue and demuring and deferring and tolerating and all that crap. I want my own damn space, and I do mean space. I want more room!
I am trying to take on extra work so I can afford to live on my own in this expensive ass country (expensive for no other reason than the tourists…. ) and still maintain Dayo. So far it’s looking possible, but I’m not closer to it.
I am also trying hard not to move too far away from Dayo’s daycare. I want to continue to take him there. He likes it, they like him and most important I like them, and I really want to uproot him from there if I’m leaving this house. I’d like to give him some continuity and regularity.
Of course, I also need to find somewhere with DSL access, because without it I cannot work.
: sigh: I hate living in Barbados…. too expensive and not enough benefits. I am going to leave again. I want to go back to the UK. It’s not so easy though. The Working Holiday visa I went up on previously, is only avialble once in your lifetime. In any case, mine expired a year ago, and I left six months before it was up in any case.
If my son’s father was a real man, I wouldn’t have this sort of problem. His son is entitled to a passport through him. Speaking of CFWanker, it is now July and in almost eleven months of life, that man has not once asked me about the health of his son. Despite acknowledging his presence in an email, and promising to help financially (accompanied might I add with some orders regarding the boy–Pbbbbtthhhh!!) it is almost eleven months and barring one paltry contribution at the beginning of December, nothing.
Now I am pretty sure he reads this blog. If he doesn’t read, his uhmm…. ‘agents’ read this blog. I know so many people are so very interested in what I have to say.
At my father’s wake, Makandal Daaga of NJAC (National Joint Action Committee) adopted Dayo. The pledged his organisation’s resources to Dayo’s upbringing. He spoke eloquently and at some length, and pledged to assist and guide in every way he and NJAC could, his needs, his education. Dayo was now NJAC’s baby.
The following day, at the funeral itself, in front of government officials, old old old heads, the entire St. James community who was there to honor, respect and make rites over this elder, my father, MANSA MUSA, an NJAC representative repeated this pledge. My son, in the arms of this man, pulled the microphone and tried to bite it, pulled man’s glasses, his ears and the programme in his hand, while the whole gathering either laughed outright or smothered guffaws. Somewhere Mansa was laughing.
The following Monday, on the night before I was to leave, I was invited to NJAC head quarters, where the pledge was again made in front of the central committee of the organisation, and Dayo was introduced to his new family.
Makandal Daaga did not make these pledges and know what the situation was. He had no idea I didn’t live in Trinidad, he didn’t know that Dayo’s father has exhibited no interest in him and contributed little to nothing to date to his maintenance and well being. He heard me say that it meant a lot to me to have a whole organisation, the oldest Pan-African organisation in Trinidad and Tobago commit itself to Dayo is such a generous and sincere gesture, in light of his father’s who abdication on the night before I left. It surprised him, and he said it made him feel that he and NJAC were doing the right thing even more.
Everybody was made to understand that Dayo was NJAC’s baby.
It still irritates me that this man, Dayo’s biological father is such a coward. It irritates me to know end because I expected better. I thought better of him. Thought of him as an honorable person for so long, it’s still shocking to me to see such a stunning lack of responsibility and display of cowardice.
I guess it always been that way, so this is the way it’s playing it self out.
I wonder though who suffers the most. I guess because I understand some the spiritual implications of this situation, I understand that this role is one of repetition, patterns, repeated choices that do not advance the situation and doom us both to repetition. It’s also not just me and him involved. It’s Dayo too, and all his little informers who feel it’s their job to support him in not taking responsibility for his child so they can get money for rituals.
Thing is, it’s easy to say that these people are all taking food from Dayo’s mouth. They are not. Oludumare, Ancestors and Orisha provide. I put my faith in them to provide what Dayo needs. What they do is make it harder instead of making it easier.
What’s awesome to watch, and inspires gratitude in me everyday, is how when needs arise, they are met. Someone offers this, shows up with that, how easily some people offer me their shoulders, their cars, food, clothes, shoes, money, projects and whatever, to help me make ends meet.
The Universe hears me, and sends Angels and I have learnt to accept them. To accept help when I need it, and to ask for it.
Yet, I know, because the Lukumi community is small, and Orisha people all seem to know each other, and the kind of abhorrent crab-like behavior I see on a day to day basis, you hear things.
People gossip about this situation. Gossip about what happened between me and CFWanker, gossip about Dayo. I know because of course it all filters back to me.
I don’t repeat gossip and I avoid gossipers. It’s something I don’t like in people around me, and people who repeat gossip around me are immediately suspect. I have one, maybe two people I trust. No one else knows the whole story.
I’ve had old biddies attack me public forums, and dress me down my dears. Puporting to tell me my business, and criticise me because I opened up my mouth and told the truth about what happened between me and CFWanker, and have continued to tell the truth about what has subsequently occured and the situation that exists now. When I run out of money and I need diapers, food etc., or he has to go to the doctor and I need to borrow money to pay for it, where are these criticisers?
Check it, these are all women. Women who are very huffily talking to me about eldership and how I need to respect them because they’ve been initiated for x number of years and story, story, story. They know the story too, because these are women who have had men hit them. These are women who have had to scramble and scrimp and cry because $0.50 does not make $1 and diapers are $15.
So it is nothing short of disappointment in ALL of them, that they are choosing to support a status quo because of money.
I just wonder who really suffers the most. Who suffers?
Who is losing out? Who is the sinner? Who is righteous?
What all of this has done is strengthen my faith in God, and lessened my trust of the Lukumi community (at least as it is personified by online personalities and groups) tremendously. I have eschewed the religious community for the most part. I simply do not want to be involved. I do not post in online groups anymore, because they are populated by a variety of sharks and loonies, and the outright ruthless and well I don’t really have time to sift through the chaff anymore.
I don’t talk about my life with many Orisha people online, although for a number of reasons, this blog is ranked very highly on search engines and I get a lot of traffic from people interested in Orisha and hence, has a ‘profile’.
If you will notice, my long detailed posts about my life have lessened over the last year or so. It is for this reason.
It have all kinda jealous and bad-mind people out there who willing to sin their soul so they can put me ‘in my place’, who want to shut me up.
Instead of shutting up though, I have just tried to choose my world differently. To expose my life in a different fashion. I do continue to write, but because I know these people read, I feel like I often cannot express my real feelings.