Here lately I've been having difficulty sleeping. Images of the old days keeping floating through my mind.
Scene 1:
"Carla baby, when ya gon let me take me out on a date? I'm legal nah, just went 21! You know I love you!"
I always laughed when he said that. "Whatever fool," I would shout back. Holla when ya 30!"
Scene 2:
"xxxx, why are you sitting out here...and with ya child? Things are on a next level now. This is dangerous!"
xxx: "Girl you worry to much. We are protected. No one can touch this hill."
Scene 3:
"Hey Carla, just letting you know that I'm going to be doing some construction in our yard and we might have to cut down the loquat tree, you mind?"
Me: "Nah, I'm scared of lizards anyway."
Scene 4 (outside of a funeral).xxx has been crying:
"Hey xxx, I know I've been saying this for years and you can tell me to shut de eff up if you want, but you have to leave this hood alone. These guys aint playing. Lay low. I dont want anything to happen to you...ya better than all of this. I know you dont want to seem like a punk, but it may be time to turn ya back and leave this hill alone. I love you and but if anything happens to you I am NOT coming to your funeral, you understand?"
That last conversation was on December 12, 2009 outside the funeral of my longtime friend, Kumi Hardford. The night he was killed I was awake, just 48 hours away from giving birth and I heard every single shot. Every scream, every sob. And at least once a week that night plays over and over in my head.
And those scenes above I started out with, they will never happen again. Not because you cant turn back the hands of time, but because every one of those people are DEAD. Four young men, gone too soon. I knew each and every one from little. I watched them grow from lil snotty nosed boys into confident young men. They were not perfect, they were not angels but each of them was an important part of my life because they were a part of the neighbourhood that I love with all my soul.
May 2009, Im in Florida and I get a bb about a shooting. And then a text that someone was killed. I bawled my eyes out on that highway. That was surreal. And then months later there was another and another. This shit was beyond scary. I became paranoid. I would do everything in my power not to let Jani go outside but how do you tell a 3-year-old that he must stay in the house for his own safety? My daughter, who has heard more than her fair share of gun play in her 10 short years refused to venture even in the backyard after dusk because: "Um not getting shot."
Why do they and other children in our neighbourhood have to recall this as they reflect on their youth? I remember running all around, through the trees, in the huts, down the dump, having a BLAST with Nooshty, Gertie, 'Nette, Z and the crew. And the only thing I was afraid of was my granny punishing me for not coming home when she called.
She would stand in the yard and bellow: "Toooootsieeee". I was so embarrassed then, but so thankful now. Unfortunately, my children will never have that experience....and it saddens me.
"SO JUST LEAVE"
Over the last two years, Ive had at least 30 phone calls, especially from my mom, saying: "Take those babies and leave before it's too late."
I've pondered it but I can honestly say I dont feel unsafe. A little apprehensive at times, scared as hell at other times, but never unsafe. Am I ignorant. It's not like the neighbourhood is huge. A bullet off by a few feet could prove fatal to an innocent person...including myself.
But my nana worked for her home and I somehow feel that I would be throwing away her legacy if I sell it or leave. I've been told my many: she gave it to you so that you could have a start..it doesnt mean that you are stuck there forever. True. Maybe one day.
But one thing is for sure, I love my hill and all its character, but I miss the 'old' hill. There's no more activity and everyone is either dead, locked up or left Bermuda in order to remain alive. Often I drive through and tears well up in my eyes because I know that things will never be the same...
**I miss you guys. RIP**
Twilton, this one is deep. I think back to my childhood. I'm a Dudley Hill girl and there was a time I'd near kill to live in/own the house that my Nanny and Pops lived in. Dudley Hill isn't the same as it used to be back in my day but on one can take my memories away. Some of the element there now wouldn't even know what to do with some of the fun we had as children. Nor do many of them have a pot to piss in, window to throw it out so their level of respect isn't where it should be for those that want to hang on to the only piece of the rock they may be able to have. I know its a tough call and only you can make it. When something threatens your sanity and safety, or that of your children, its time to step back and re-evaluate. I think your Grandma's intent was to provide you the best that she could so that you didn't have to struggle. She couldn't have known that the hill would change so dramatically but I suspect she knew the world would and she gave you a good head start. I know she'd be proud whatever your decision - one that you have to make, just like she did, for your future generations. Bless.
ReplyDeleteThis is deep. I miss the old Bermuda. Haven t lived on the island in a long time but its still my home and the news of the shootings really has affected me. My children stay there summers and they will never know the fun we had growing up. Walking the beach, fishing down dockyard, going town on the bus, hanging out till Nana called us in. Never understand the freedom and fun we had. I expect that here in the states. I am a constant ball of nerves. But Bermuda you would never think. We used to sleep with doors wide open at night. Out on the grass out front. Those days are over and it makes me so sad. Our Youth are in turmoil. We live in our last days for sure.
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