Story Mwen To Tell (My Story To Tell)

Screaming Intuition: #1: The Crew Party

December 15th, 2022

There are so many memories of my intuition speaking to me, but a few really stood out. I guess they were the times that my life depended on whatever decision I made and so the guidance that was being offered to me was much louder than usual. I am also ashamed to say that I began listening to that voice of guidance and acting on what it was saying, very late. Growing up I often found myself in repeated situations and having to tell myself that I knew better. There is a certain way that I feel when I know that something isn’t right. In those times, I felt the instant manifestation of being in the wrong place and around the wrong people within my mind, and my physical body. Those were incredible experiences that I will never forget and so, I have taken the decision to immortalize them here in my writing. One of those experiences was on a cruise ship where I worked in a few years ago. I was a part of a party and pool band, as the lead singer. I was also the youngest and only female.

Many people who know me, know that I command respect without even asking for it. I’ve been told that the way I carry myself says it all. If anyone wants to push the envelope, then they get the idea in the way that I speak. I learned to hold back nothing. To tell it like it is regardless of whose feelings may be hurt. There are not many moments where I can say that I have been disrespected, or an attempt was made to disrespect me by people that I’ve worked with. Those people who did try though, up till this day, I no longer speak to, or have anything to do with. I have felt that the ‘cut off completely’ method has worked fine for me and my boundaries.

So here I was, working on this ship as an entertainer. There is a stigma that musicians or singers on a cruise ship are often promiscuous or usually get into flings. Uh…..ok. Not me. Maybe I need a trophy, but in the five years that I have worked on cruise ships, I have never once gotten into any type of romantic relationship. I have never hooked up with anybody either. No friends with benefits. Nada! nothing! Negative! Friendships yes, some of which still hold strong today. In spite of this, I fell victim to rumours anyway. I paid them no mind and was quite comfortable in my routine of work, sleep, gym and getting my meals. If I wasn’t set to perform during the day, I almost never left my cabin. The three men that I worked with in the band were from my country. I had known a couple of them from music jobs before. Of course, working with someone allows you to get to know them better, and there was one who over time, sent my spirit guides into defense mode.

I took note of how that person would repeat stories where they made themselves look like some sort of macho man, or hero. He would talk down other people, especially a particular member of the band who usually just stood there and took it. He also started making comments about my dressing that I didn’t like. His revolting attitude reminded me very much of the first guy that I had formed a duo with in 2014. We ended up falling out because he refused to understand that I had come to work on the ship, and not to be his side piece. I was an entertainer, so of course I’d have to dress like one. Added to that, I was steadily going to the gym, so, “good body gyal” mode was activated. Ayyyyyye. I remember having to buy new clothes because my body was changing. My legs and glutes were huge, and my tummy was ripped. I was suddenly getting a lot more attention from male crew members because of it, and YES, that’s me in the cartoonized photo below. 🙂 I have since been careful to not reach that size again. I hated the attention.

I got a text from Mr. Asshole as we shall now call him, once at 4 am, asking if I was asleep. Of course, I wasn’t. Having so many years of working at night had for sure messed up my biological clock and so I didn’t fall asleep until 6 or so in the morning. I had replied stating that I was not asleep, then he had asked “Can I come to your cabin? I need to talk.” Already feeling the negative vibe, I had said “You can talk right here” Nobody was coming to my cabin. If you’ve worked on a ship, you would know how small a single cabin is, and I had made it my sacred space. Stay out! This man then responded “I want you. I cannot help myself.”

Catch me gagging. Firstly, he was not at all my type, and second of all, even if he was, he was PUBLICLY and OPENLY involved with someone. I then responded “You’re just missing your partner, you will see her soon. It’s not me you want. So chill and go back to bed.” This sent my guards up even more with this guy. I was honestly disgusted. Not just anybody was getting into these talented pants. Sorry. If you were to ask my current partner E, he would tell you how hard he worked to even be able to get affection out of me.

The particular incident that made me hear my spirit guides loud and clear, in actual words, was at a crew party, which I almost never went to. I had befriended a galley worker; K from Grenada and he was the one who convinced me to come to the party. I had given him raw ginger and a few other herbs that I wanted blended up, to restore my voice, and he had promised to do it after the party was done, and so I went to the crew party when it was almost over in order to collect my drink. I hated crew parties because I got hit on so much. I guess I understood that men would always try. Also, I worked in entertainment and so my life was a party. I didn’t want to indulge in more music after my shift was over. Below is a small clip of me singing on the ship back in 017. 🙂

I arrived and stood by the door for a few minutes. There was a Filipino Crew Band playing and I was enjoying the music. They were really good. I was actually thinking to myself that “crew parties maybe aren’t that bad.” I spotted K at the bar serving drinks, and he caught sight of me too. He gave me a wink and I knew that he had not forgotten my reason for being there in the first place. Such a sweetheart. Bless his soul. I had then seen two of my band members across the room and so naturally made my way to them through the crowd. We greeted each other and continued enjoying the music. It hadn’t been two minutes when I noticed the third band member, Mr. Asshole coming towards the rest of us. Upon sighting him making his way through the crowd, I instantly felt a way (Now that I think about it, it was probably anxiety). Like “Oh great, Mr. Asshole is here.’ He however didn’t come towards us, but strategically circled us and placed himself further into corner of the crew bar. Behind us. I tried to ignore it, but my body had begun to act strange. He was out of sight but surely not out of mind, and that was the problem. A headache grew rapidly, and my arms and legs began to tingle. I turned around and found him staring at me with a smirk on his face, and a drink in his hand.

Then it had begun. A voice in my head saying “Leave now. Go back to your cabin!”

With a now pounding headache, and almost difficulty to breathe, because asthma decided to join the party, I was slow to react. The voice got louder, over the blasting music from the band playing and the chattering of the crowd. “Get out! Go to your cabin.” I began to feel my heart through my chest, pounding heavily and I must have shown signs of distress because looking across to the crew bar again, my friend K, was looking at me with an expression that asked, “are you ok?”

The voice was now piercing. “GET OUT!!” I had then pointed to the ceiling to signal “upstairs’ and he had cocked his head to the side. I did not have the time to explain. I knew I had to move. Quickly, I bolted for the door. I had to weave through the crowd in the now packed crew bar, but I made it to the door and flew upstairs. Having finally gotten accustomed to the ship, I effortlessly made my way to the staircase outside of the cabin where K and I usually sat and talked for hours and found him there waiting for me, with my bottle of blended herbs too! There are many shortcuts on a ship and depending on your department, you’re going to know all of them.

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‘Wah happen dere gyol?” (What’s going on?) he asked in his Grenadian accent. “I see yuh boy chasing yuh.” I shook my head in disgust but was happy I had a witness to what I felt was happening. God really do send you the right people. I had told him how I instantly started to feel strange the moment I could no longer see Mr. Asshole and how my mind would not let me stay in that room. He then told me that he had seen him make his way to stand behind me when I went to the other band members. “You see everything from the bar.” After speaking for a while, I decided to retreat to my cabin and thanked K for his kindness and concern. While preparing for bed, I heard the voice again “Well done.

I fell silent in awe that I was actively being guided. That being in that little corner of the crew bar, with not much light, and that psycho standing behind me looking like a serial killer wasn’t the best place to be, and so alarms went off in my head. I was proud of myself for listening and acting on it. I may have saved myself from what could have been a very uncomfortable situation. It was one of the first times that I remembered clearly, getting messages in and actual speaking voice. I prayed for a good minute and thanked God for protecting me. Needless to say, I soon left the band and went on my solo career. Always divinely guided, protected and always grateful.

Sincerely, A Woke Island Girl.
Never Downplay the Day of Small Things

December 1st, 2022

The Actual Passion Fruit Tree. Bagatelle, Barbados.

This one stuck with me. Everything truly happens at its own perfect time. Had this happened any earlier, when my understanding of life and the events therein was limited, I would have simply brushed it off as a coincidence. The more I learn and understand, the more my experiences are shaped, as if to reinforce the lesson that life has taught me, or is trying to teach me.

I am writing this on a Caribbean Island where many different fruits are aplenty. It’s 2020 and Covid_19 isn’t quite done with the world yet. This island is not where I am from and so I am still getting used to the availability of what types are grown here, and when and where they are available. On the island where I grew up, I have always had access to many fruits as we grow them on our land. Wherever I am in the world, you can surely find me buying fruit.

My workload has been heavy for the past few weeks and my body reacts to stress by craving “comfort situations” to establish some sort of familiarity or normalcy.

It comes in various forms. It could be through food. I resort to cooking foods that my grandmother or mother did, sometimes having to travel with some of the ingredients just to ensure that I can have them when I need them. Cacao Tea (Natural Hot Chocolate) is one of my favorites without a doubt. (See my Blog on this).

It can also be by wearing specific clothing. when I am extremely stressed, wearing certain clothes that I carry with me all the time, that I have had for years, brings about a calm and soothe to me. Some of my necessary pieces are from my late Grandma. They still smell like her and floods my heart with love.

The vibe of the environment usually goes hand in hand with what other efforts that I make. Listening to the local radio station of my island, hearing familiar voices of the presenters, and listening to a few good songs almost always does the trick. My comfort situations are tied to memories of home, and so calling up someone that I could speak in creole with, or just speak on things that we both identify with and understand brings about a form of grounding that keeps me going through the next day, week or month if needed.

During my stressful period of work, somewhat confined to this new island until the quota had been met, with my skin breaking out, very little sleep, a disappointing relapse into hair pulling and lip picking, I suddenly began craving Passion Fruits. It was very strong and so I began searching for them. I found Passionfruit juice in boxes. Processed and packaged. My mind and body instantly rejected it. You see, back on my island, we grew our own passion fruits and made the juice ourselves.

Search all I would, I could not find them how I wanted them. Fresh. Not in juice form, processed or anything. I kept saying over and over, as the days flew by and my workload got even crazier, “I want passion fruits, and though I may not see them now, I see myself drinking a nice homemade glass”. If course listening to Florence Scovel Shinn had a massive impact on my perception of life and reality.

I had been renting a house for about 8 weeks and hardly ever ventured into the yard for three reasons. One because I did not have the time. Two, because there was usually a troop of Green Monkeys attacking the mango tree therein, and I had learnt through past experiences that they can be quite feisty. Three, because I could not find someone to cut the tall grass. The area that I lived in was also one that rained a lot, which meant that the grass was not just tall, it was also wet.

When I finally did find someone to come cut, bag, and take away the grass, I discovered a rather low hanging clothing line. It was hidden in a yellow flower hedge that was not properly trimmed, and so along with the previous tall grass, surely would not be seen. I was delighted because my house did not come equipped with a dryer and the clothes rack that came with the house was small. Seeing that there were multiple occupants, that clothes rack was almost never available.

I decided to try out the line in the yard the next time I washed. A few repairs had to be made to the line so that it was lifted higher off of the ground and I did not wish my clean clothes to drag, so I went to it that very day and sort-of fixed it. It was obviously not used in quite some time.

About a week later, while I was hanging out the clothes on the line for the first time, I had to brush off quite a few dried vines that had grown along it and thought nothing of them at the time. They were wrapped around it tightly and so it took me a few minutes to unwind some of them, and finally get the job done. I cleared them all away and successfully hung up the clothes.

The vines however, for some reason, stayed on my mind for about three hours while I tried to work before I finally figured it out.

When I did, I ran out of the house past my bewildered partner, and the other people from our team who were in the house at that time shouting “Passion Fruit Vines!” I ran straight to the hedge, and lo and behold, there were passion fruits in full bloom tucked away on the underside of the untrimmed hedge. Because they are yellow, like the flowers in the bush, I must have seen those that had fallen to the ground, but thought they were flowers from afar.

I gathered as many as I could and headed to the kitchen to make myself a tall glass of homemade passion Fruit juice. I was so happy. I drank to my heart’s content and shared with everyone around. It was a first taste for a couple of them, and the first time actually seeing the fruit raw and unprocessed. Later that night I laughed like a psycho to myself, thanking the Universe for giving me just what I needed. I marveled at how close they were to me all this time.

Though I could not see them, something told me to keep the faith. To ask knowing that I would receive. I did not know how and when, but I trusted in the way I learned that life works and knew I would be eventually blessed with what I wanted. I began reciting “God is truly my supply” for the rest of that night and well into the next week. Needless to say, a few more manifestations came into play, but that’s another blog. Whenever my partner and I talk about it, he recalls how excited I was, and how great the juice tasted. He was at the time, was being introduced to the many pros and cons of island living, and was happy to witness the creation of some spectacular homemade Passion Fruit juice.

I have spoken the word for many things in my life, and finding those passion fruits was my sign of land. I now have stronger faith that the bigger things asked for, are already on their way to me, and may just be closer than I think.

Thank You Infinite Spirit and thank you Florence Scovel Shinn. 😊

Sincerely a Faithful Island Girl.
DIVINE PROTECTION

November 13th, 2022

We are divinely protected, every one of us.

We get countless examples of such every day, but depending on our levels of internal vibration, we do not recognize and therefore do not understand the magnitude of our experiences. There is sometimes an inharmony with the connection to source, that leaves us in sticky situations, because we do not see what we are being protected from, and so walk into similar or the same situations even after being saved.

I can safely say that I am a lot further on my path now, that I was just about four years ago. I have learned to listen to my intuition and so the voice of guidance in my life got louder and louder, and the messages got clearer. I have also learned to tune in with my body and to obey its demands when I know that it is necessary.

For example. If I am feeling lazy and I know that I have got to work out, I will not listen to my body’s want of sleep. I will get up and work out. But if I am feeling ill or extremely tired, I will know to rest or up my water intake, to relax, to meditate and do other things that may help raise my vibration. If after all that, I sill feel ill, then I know that it’s time to seek professional help.

I just want to share a little experience that I had the other day. It is for sure one of many that I have written about, just to remember such miraculous events. I am now turning them into blogs. That particular experience really drove home the fact that both my baby and I are divinely protected, and I have absolutely nothing to worry about.

I have been battling asthma for some years now (currently working on speaking it out of my reality), and about a year ago, switched from Ventolin inhalers to Salbutamol solutions in my portable nebulizer.

I am almost 9 months post-partum writing this, and honestly, I cannot really say that I have battled deep post-Partum depression. Maybe I have and did not recognize it as grave or serious. I have for sure had moments of fear, staring at the tiny person in my arms that I was now responsible for. I have cried my eyes out for reasons I could not put my finger on. I have had moments of being upset at my partner for not pulling his weight. I have felt hopeless in certain situations where I was alone with the baby and there was so much to be done, but even in those moments a voice said “If you were not here, it would be done anyway, so go lay down with your baby, give him the attention and love that he is seeking. The work can be done later.” I obeyed. Having a baby has changed my life and added more weight to how I interpret things, because I have a whole other body and soul to look after. My pregnancy and delivery of my son has opened up the vast reservoirs of intuition and innate knowledge that I now believe only a mother can possess.

The day that I am speaking of, is one where I felt breathless for most of the morning. Despite that, I had performed my motherly duties of bathing, feeding, cuddling, and entertaining my baby for that morning, and was trying to get my active and now mobile 8-month-old to settle down for nap time. He had just discovered that creeping is easier, after ceaselessly trying to walk, and so I had to watch him whenever he was on a bed or any high enough surface, as he would attempt creep right off, trying to get to me, or whatever it was that had his interest. I did not have a crib nor a cot, because we were constantly traveling for me to work in music, and having one or the other proved very troublesome to move with.

I had rounded up some of his toys and placed him on the bed, and I was on the floor, using my nebulizer machine that was plugged into the wall. The cord for the nebulizer was very short and so if it was not plugged into my portable charger, I was forced to be close to whatever wall socket I was using. I could not find my portable charger that morning, and I still cannot remember why. I remember hearing his shriek of excitement and automatically put my hand up to the edge of the bed knowing that he was either bolting for me or was about to. Placing my hand there would usually distract him and cause him to stop to investigate, and if it did not, it would prevent him from falling right off.

So, there I was, on the floor of the bedroom, sitting crossed legged, trying to breathe and hold my son back at the same time. It was a house in Barbados, where I was for a few weeks, filming music videos. There were three other people in the house with me at that time, each in their own rooms I believe. After about three to four minutes of regulating my breathing, I decided that it was enough and switched off the machine with my free hand. I also responded to a text message from a friend with my now free hand, as my phone was hooked up to the same USB port, and was also on the floor. The time was 11:55 am.

I then tested my breathing as I usually did and found my nose stuffy. My bottle of Vick’s Vapour rub was in my carry-on suitcase in the closet. The suitcase was opened on a shelf, and I could see the bottle clearly. I knew in order to have a peaceful nap, I would need to breathe properly and so, I pushed my baby back toward the middle of the bed, and I stood up from the floor. I then and took a step towards the closet which was barely five steps away as the room was not at all big. I recall taking a pause because I felt seriously dizzy, and the next thing I remember was waking up on the floor.

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At first it felt like I was coming out of sleep. I feel like I opened and closed my eyes several times. Then the pain hit. Searing across my lower back, almost half way down my right butt cheek. I think I heard myself moan in pain as well. When my eyes finally remained open and was able to focus, I noticed how far away the ceiling looked and then realized that I was on the floor. “Why am I on the floor?” I thought and sat up. Another burst of pain at the sight of whatever injury I had suffered, my head felt heavy and my eyes burned from the inside. Then one word flashed into my mind when I became fully conscious after about a minute of just sitting there, feeling like I had just woken up from my C-section all over again.

“VRY!” (My son’s nickname)

I don’t think I can imagine how I looked but I do know that I shot up with lightning speed after realizing that my baby was on the bed. I stood up, ignoring the immense pain and found him lying peacefully, partially on top of one of the pillows that I had used to create a barricade, one arm slung over and the other with a thumb in his mouth, looking at me. My eight-month-old was not crying, nor trying to crawl off the bed. He was not playing with his toys, or putting them in his mouth. He was just there looking at me.

“My baby is safe! He is ok!” was what I said with my inside voice and sat down on the edge of the bed. He looked up at me and smiled, but I can’t help but think that his expression before that was one of sadness, and that he was sucking on his thumb for comfort. He doesn’t usually do that. My chest tightened from the fright of realizing what had just happened and my thoughts went once again to the Vicks Vapour Rub.

I looked across to the closet where it was still in the carry-on suitcase. I never made it to the closet. The rug on the floor was also crumpled, showing the exact impression where I landed, pretty hard, I deduced from the pain I was still feeling.

I tried to wrap my head around what had taken place but just felt tired, so I climbed into the bed and pulled my son close. It was then I checked the time on my other phone I had left on the bedside table. It was now 12:28.

A barrage of questions ran through my mind. “How long was I out for?”

Clearly more than twenty minutes. “What exactly happened? Did I faint? Why did I faint?”

I felt breathless again just thinking about it and so made a conscious effort to calm down, and began to breast-feed my son, who was now back to his feisty self, seeing that mama was back in operation. I looked at him drink peacefully, pulling on my long braids and kicking at the air, and began to cry. It hit me that nothing short of a miracle kept my son on that bed. Nothing more than his guardian angels being active and present. He saw me fall; I know that for sure. I wondered what went through his mind when he did. Did he think it was funny? Did he cry? I learned later that day after inquiring that no one had heard. No one knew I was on the floor while the baby was unattended to on the bed. I could have died and no one would have known for quite some time. It just so happened that I did not hit my head on anything while crashing to the floor. A feeling of calm came over me as I thought “Could have – is not the point here. You are alive and your baby is ok. He made no effort to jump off that bed like he usually does. He was calm and just waiting for you to wake up. You both are surely divinely protected. You are never alone.” I closed my eyes and sent words of thanks and gratitude to the Infinite Spirit, to God, to the Universe, to my ancestors and my spirit guides, and to my son’s. I was happy for the first-hand example that both my son and I were, and still are under grace. If it was the sign I needed, I took it to the depths of my still beating heart. Several days later, while on my home island of Dominica, to take the baby to be with my mom for a few weeks, the proof I needed appeared. Two large, blueish-black marks on my right butt cheek, close to my tail bone, and a hardening of the area.

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My friends and co-workers back in Barbados had thought maybe I imagined fainting and it was a result of anxiety, especially since no one heard or saw anything. They were convinced that I was going through post-partum depression and did not even know it. I am sure at first, they didn’t believe me. Nothing added up. It was just my groggy account, but now with those marks there was no denying that something happened. But that’s how the Infinite Spirit works. Nothing needs to add up or make sense to the conscious mind. Maybe the only one who needs to believe my account of that day was me, and I am ok with that. Looking at those marks in the mirror, again I offered thanks and praises for the divine intervention that took place that day. They were proof that I was not going crazy and that a miracle did indeed occur in my life on that faithful day.

Whenever I think about it, especially if there are slight feelings of dizziness or nausea, I now instantly ground myself. Be it by sitting or lying down. I just get as close to the ground as possible for slight fear of falling again. However, I know better. I am divinely protected.

“Today is the day of my amazing good fortune. Miracle shall follow miracle and wonders shall never cease.” Florence Scovel Shinn.

Sincerely: A Grateful Island Girl.
Hurtful Help

October 24th, 2022

Not too long ago, I became a mother to a wonderful little soul. He is everything I could imagine and more. Beautiful, alert, intelligent and always happy. It was not a planned pregnancy and my partner E and I had to adjust and fast! We made the decision to halt on whatever was going on in our lives, and to put this little creature first. This baby is our first and only and there were never any babies running about in my house at any one point in time and besides teaching a primary school for some time, my experience with children, especially newborn, was at zero. Naturally, this new development brought about a change in the environment, and in feelings.

I noticed changes in people’s attitude towards me from the moment that I began “showing.” Though I am quite popular on the island, I was and still am often away from home because of work. Many people were surprised to see me, and additionally, pregnant. I am a very private person and so did not announce my pregnancy, especially on social media. I had a “if you see me, you see me” attitude. The behavior of various people towards me however, had me thinking. I wrote this blog because I wanted to see if I was the only one experiencing these things. Was it only on my island? Is it a ‘black people” thing? Is it considered normal? I need answers. Feel free to share you experiences whether similar or different, in the comments.

I do not look my age, and E looks even younger than I do. With a proper line-up and a shave, he could pass for 18. We, especially me because hey, I was the one with the belly, got quite a few disapproving stares and looks from people I don’t even know. This one lady who stood behind me in the queue at the bank commented loudly after looking me up and down “Boy! Children still making children oui boy!” causing everyone else to turn and look at me. I said nothing and urged E who was howling with laughter to quiet down. He was at the time struggling to understand our dialect, especially when spoken quickly and it surprised me that he caught on to what the lady had said.

Another woman said very dryly when we walked past her in the capital city one day “Wow! I am seeing things papa!” E had turned around to look at her and told me that she had actually left her position on the side walk, to get a longer look at…..me? I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure and I let that one slide.

Bumping into an old school mate after one of my doctor’s visits, I had to endure a rather strange conversion. “Oh! I didn’t know you were pregnant! That’s nice I guess. I mean, I didn’t expect you to have a baby. So, what are you having? I hope it’s a girl!” she had said. E started to grin, a grin I knew all too well, and I ended the convo quickly. I asked her why however, she wanted me to have a girl in particular, and she responded that it was simply because she hoped to have a girl herself. I really didn’t know what to say and so laughed it off. Speaking to E later about it, because he had brought it up as I knew he would, he remarked how weird it was for her to have said that. “It’s like she is enforcing her personal will unto you” he remarked. I remembered the hint of sadness in her tone when she made that statement, and it made me realise that she was maybe having a bit of bad luck in her efforts to become a mother. Though I did feel weird about it, I harboured no hard feelings towards her. People are going to be people. If God does bless her with a child, she too will understand.

I felt that weird way again when some of my acquaintances found out about my pregnancy and had an attitude because I didn’t tell them. They literally felt that I needed to come to them and announce that I was having a baby. Their vibe towards me instantly changed, and it was not in a good way. I clocked every comment and the attitude that went with it. Needless to say, I don’t really speak to a few of them anymore. I concluded later, when I did the math, that they too wanted children, and probably were not able to. A couple of them were dealing with children from their partner’s previous relationship or on-going, side, other relationships, what the hell do I know?

So, who was I to be so blessed right? I took note.

When I finally posted a picture to my social media accounts one morning, revealing my pregnancy, I instantly saw a decrease in the number of friends on my list. My Facebook friends list is always at 5000, with another 1000 waiting to be accepted. I noticed it was at 4987 by the evening. Thirteen people just decided to ‘unfriend’ me right after I revealed that I was with child. No coincidence. Not a chance. I was also flooded with hundreds of messages and comments of congratulations and other well wishes. With that also came a barrage of questions like “What are you having and when are you due?” or “You should name them this or that” Should. This was a should thing, apparently. “I don’t know yet.” was always my reply. I found that line of questioning very intrusive. Some of these people had never messaged me before, and others, their last message to me was years earlier. Thank God for Facebook Messenger date stamps.

As the time passed and my belly got bigger and rounder, I avoided being in the capital city, or anywhere really. I felt like too much attention was being placed on me, and my partner. He is not from my island where everybody knows everybody, and has very little social media presence, and so quite a few people were very interested in knowing who he was. It annoyed him how much he would be stared at, and how close to him some women would choose to walk or sit or stand. I remember him asking one of them if she had a coordination problem. If that was the reason why she could not see the amount of space on the sidewalk available to her, and why she had chosen to walk to close to him. He then added a “Wha is dat nuh?” in his attempted Dominican accent, but his full native accent betrayed him and sent me rolling. The result of watching way too many episodes of “B-Smoke” on Facebook, and as if the Universe wanted to have some fun, we saw him (Brittney) that very afternoon. E recalled the jokes and laughed all the way home.

When our bundle of joy finally arrived, it was at 9 am one Friday morning, via C-Section, and at a time when the hospital still held fast to Covid_19 protocols. None of my family members, nor E was allowed to be there when the baby was born, nor to visit me while I recovered. I had to stay on the maternity ward for 5 days before I was discharged. The pain from the C-Section incision was incredible, the Heparin injections burned and left me bruised and blue at each puncture site. My voice was gone from the breathing tube used during surgery, I had very little breast-milk production and I was starving. I could not eat nor drink from eleven pm the Thursday night, up till Saturday morning when I got the ‘go ahead’ from the doctor. Bless his soul. I have no complaints about him. He brough my baby safely into this world and for that I am forever grateful. I had to walk, in pain, to the cafeteria to claim my first meal after surgery and discovered that someone had stolen the meat out of my plate. I laughed like a psycho and inched back to my bed. After all, the maternity ward was for pregnant women and I knew how that went.

As if to add icing on the cake, was the nasty attitude received from some of the nurses on staff. I hated the way that I was being spoken to, with unnecessary sarcasm and rude remarks. I remember telling one of them after she told me

“Whole day you lie down. I have to give you your medication, and wake up the baby to feed. Where that fan come out? You don’t know you cannot have a fan on the child?” A Kalinago queen who had given birth the night before, and was placed on the same ward with me quickly retorted “But AA! Is so nuh?” Then she said to me “Don’t wake the baby. When he is hungry you will know. Trust me!” I had had enough and saw red. My reply was quick and merciless. “First of all, you JUST ARRIVED nurse, so you don’t know anything about the whole day, especially mine and if you are not going to speak to me properly, then don’t at all. There are mosquitoes as big as flies in here, and it is sweltering! The fan is tiny, and my baby is covered. He has on a hat. He’s fine! If you would read my file, you would know that I am a new mother, so no I don’t know! I am learning, and you would also know that I have already had the Heparin shot that you are attempting to give to me, unless your colleague didn’t write that down!” She never came to my bed again. I clocked that!

Fast forward to the first visit to the clinic. My baby was six days old and I was dropped off by my mother. My tummy was still big, the cut still burned when I moved and my hair was breaking terribly. My mother could not find parking and so I had to walk past the building to find her when I was done. I had my baby underneath his blanket for the short walk to the car. On my way, a woman sitting in the facility’s yard said loud enough for me to hear “Where your umbrella nuh pal? You don’t know you have to cover the baby? Allu (You) young people dunno (don’t) know nothing. Is just go and get child.” I didn’t respond. That lady acted like I was holding my baby up to the Sun God like Rafiki in the Lion King. By that time, I had already concluded that people were probably genuinely trying to help but didn’t know how. I chose peace. I kept on walking.

Home. God bless my mother. She supported me greatly right through my pregnancy and after the birth of the baby. She helped where she could both financially and physically. What annoyed me often was the fact that she would make remarks that reminded me of the other people that I had encountered and decided to ignore. My baby was quite a calm one, and still is. Sometimes, like any other baby he would cry when being bathed or changed. My mother and father would burst into the room with “Oh my God! What are you all doing to the baby? Why is the baby crying?” whenever they heard it. Honestly speaking that didn’t sit well with me and I was quite happy when the baby did the same to them. I didn’t care how they felt about it and I would run into the room frantically asking the famous “Oh my God, what are you doing to the baby?” much to their annoyance. I chose petty war.

I am a new mother. Experiencing motherhood for the first time. Even if I was told about certain things, experiencing them for myself was unexplainable. I remember being a bit flustered at times because the baby would not latch or because my milk supply was low, or simply because I was going through it while my body tried to adjust to the end of pregnancy, I would remark “Yow! Motherhood is no joke!” or “Wow! I never knew it was like this.”

I did not say those things out of frustration or annoyance. I simply felt the need to acknowledge how incredibly challenging motherhood was, and I was already in the habit of talking to myself, out loud. I would be met with “Nobody doh (didn’t) send you for child you know. So take it”

Even if it was said as a joke, those got me angry, and I usually just stopped talking after that. It was hurtful coming from my own family members, but it made me understand even deeper that that was just the way of “my people’. A way that I had decided to not stick to in any case. A simple “Oh yes! Now you see.” Or a “Welcome to the club girl!” would have sufficed. I hated the tone in which those comments were being made. I was a grown woman being treated like a wayward child who went and got pregnant. Maybe that would have been better.

Being extra sensitive and open to the energies around me, at a time when I was coming down from demi-god mode, made me purposefully seek peace. I mean, I was fresh from creating another human being. I successfully navigated a new soul into the world, and my mind and body took a beating. I did not have time for any negativity. I created and recited my personal affirmations. Listened to soothing music, ate tons and tons of fruit (Shout out to S MART), prayed, and enjoyed my baby as much as I could. I needed my energy to be a certain way as to not affect my prince’s development, and his breastmilk. I no longer cared how I was seen or looked at, and by whom did not matter. I knew what my personal situation was and so nobody else needed to. I sent pictures of my baby to very little people and made sure that they knew that I did not want them forwarding to anyone else! That it was a privilege to have been sent one in the first place. I desired my baby to be strong enough, and soaked up enough in my prayers and love before dealing with my enemies. I also told his name to no one. Told his age to no one. All this was done on instinct and intuition. I still have not posted a picture of him to my social media where you see his face. Choice! Mine and his father’s and we are fine with that, regardless of who isn’t. I see people do the complete opposite. They post pics, say the name, birth date, weight, length and whatever else they desire of their new born babies. It is their child. They make those choices and I usually have nothing to say about it, though I would not do the same. I saw this one young lady post “Such a cutie pie!” beneath a baby’s Facebook photo, and later saw a screenshot of a convo where the same girl said that the baby was hideous and maybe the mother should have aborted. “Nobody wants an ugly baby for a cheating man.” My spirit guides did the Tyrese chin grab and head nod at that one.

I was a mother now, and every step I took became carefully reflected upon. I followed the vast reservoir of intuition that my baby had unlocked, killed mom guilt and decided to do my best all the time, even if that best was seemingly not enough.

Looking back on it now, I am happy for the experiences. I try to take everything in life as a necessary lesson. Watching him grow into such a remarkable human being makes me want to do even more for him. I am truly happy to have been chosen for such a mission! It opened my eyes and broadened my understanding of many things, and well, gave me some excellent writing content. Thank You Infinite Spirit.

Sincerely, A Stronger Island Girl.

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A Terrifying Read.

October 16th, 2022

Every day we fight to survive. Some in seemingly harder ways than others, and whether we know it or not. What one person perceives to be a fight, may seem like a joke or a game to another, and so one’s struggles are deeply personal and based on their specific strengths, weaknesses and experiences. I’ve come to learn, even while being cautious as I carefully sift through the tons of information that comes through the screens of my technological devices via social media, that because of this lean towards comparison as to who is in more trouble than the other, someone who genuinely needs help may be completely ignored, due to the fact that society says, “it’s not that bad.”

I recently read an article, out of the Caribbean Island of Trinidad and Tobago, about a surprisingly common and very unfortunate incident involving five divers. These men worked for a welding company and regularly braved the ocean to repair damaged oil pipes. One of them, a diver for more than ten years.

The Trinidad Express “Christopher Boodram lived because he was the last man to be pulled into the darkness of the undersea pipeline”

This was the first line of the online article giving the chilling details of that faithful day. I literally stopped reading a few times to take deep breaths, and once even paused till the next day. I have a very vivid imagination as a singer/songwriter among many other things, and so had to calm my nerves after reading such a scary narrative. This is a read that will stay with me for a long time.

The men somehow got sucked into one of the oil pipes, and after hours of struggle to both breathe and get out of the pipe, only one emerged alive, and that was in part because another diver, the brother- in-law of one of the victims was alerted about the incident by his nephew, and arriving on the scene, disobeyed orders to NOT enter the water. He brought that one visible diver to the surface and was prepared to go back for the rest, but this time was reportedly stopped by the Coast Guard officers, armed.

The four other men, who were surely injured from the trauma of the incident were said to have been left behind for over 48 hours before help was finally sent in, only to retrieve their bodies. The mission had gone from rescue to recovery. Whilst reading the account from the lone survivor, my heart bled, and my eyes were filled with tears and then I found myself in a cycle of thought that bothered me until I wrote this blog.

Too many times we see people in need of help, and we reach out to those who can, or have the power to do so, and we are told that we need to follow some sort of process or protocol. We are forced to wait for a string of events to take place. Phone calls, letters to be typed and stamped and documented before any type of action can take place, while the person or people we are trying to help are literally running out of time, and oxygen.

These five men went on a routine dive. We, every day, go about our lives, routinely. Even if some of us have no routine, we can consider it routine to just to whatever. They had the knowledge and the skills to complete a task that they had done many times before, but that day was different. A phenomenon called a Delta P Event occurred and they were all sucked into a dark, water filled and oil lined, 36-inch pipe, underwater. I literally stopped my reading at the time and googled what the pipe looked like, especially looking for pictures where people were next to them to understand the ratio. I then googled the definition of Delta P or Differential Pressure and was presented with the most disturbing video of a sea crab being quickly sucked into a very small space in an underwater pipe. This is where I paused until the next day. I now had an all too clear picture of the Paria Divers’ experience.

Thinking about physically being in a similar situation is utterly scary, and it raised the hairs on the back of my neck. There was very little space inside that pipe. Many of us go through forms of stress or even depression that make us feel as scared, stuck, crammed into despair and helpless as those men may have felt.

They were inside of the pipe and could see nothing in the darkness therein. They were covered in thick, black crude oil, making it extremely difficult to move as the oil weighted them down and made toxic, the very little air in the air pockets that they used to breathe in between sharing their oxygen tanks. So many of us walk around in darkness. We sometimes find ourselves in sticky situations that are or can become toxic and dangerous. The lone survivor made it out of that pipe because he was the last to be sucked in meaning he was the closest to the exit, and he was also being pushed along towards the entrance by the man behind him, 57-year-old; Fyzal Kurban. Kurban and the other men were seriously injured from the incident, but he kept pushing him along the slosh and sharing his own oxygen tank. I was in disbelief reading this. This showed the man’s very strong will to survive, while suffering the pain from broken bones, aching lungs and God knows what else, and yet he did not make it out alive. Sometimes the people who are trying to help us out of our life-threatening situations have been in, or still are in similar or the same situations. They really should be helping themselves, but they choose to help us, and they sometimes pay for it, dearly.

He also stated that they began banging on the inside of the pipe with the equipment to alert the team above water that something was wrong. The news report stated that their noise was heard, but it appeared nothing was being done about it by the people who had the say. I tried to justify that they were trying to avoid further tragedy by not letting anyone else enter the water, but it still appeared unfair that these men were not given the chance to be rescued when they fought so hard to survive. It made me think about how sometimes we make noise ourselves, on social media, in our dressing, words and actions, in a sincere effort to cry out for help. How it is seen by the outside world is not always how we want it to be. We often get looked at or looked on upon with pity and seeming concern, but when it comes to diving in to save us from whatever danger we are in, one hand can be used to count the number of people willing to help.

“The last thing I heard was their screaming and gasping” was one of the things that the lone survivor said from his hospital bed, when he gave his account. He had suffered no broken bones thankfully, and at the time of the report, he was not yet even told that the others did not yet make it out of the water, as his mental health was highly considered. The body may survive the ordeal, but the mind has another battle to fight. The memories of our traumas replay constantly in our heads if we do not have the proper techniques and avenues to confront, accept and release them.

This being one of the most difficult articles that I’ve chosen to write, it took me several days of really convincing myself to finish it. Days turned into weeks and as the time passed by, more information about the incident was brought to the attention of the public. From what I read, the family members of the missing men were being treated like ordinary citizens, having to wait on press conferences and news reports to get information on the status of the divers even though they were practically camping outside of the site. They found out along with the rest of the world that the mission had changed from rescue to recovery. The diver who was prevented from going back into the water was enraged and kept on stating that “The rest of those men could have been rescued then and there. They were simply left to die.” Every time I read and reread those articles it made me think.

Some of us are visibly in bad situations. We are hurt, broken, sick and damaged and all we need is help, but our situations are looked upon as hopeless and the aid is not administered. What’s the point, right? I mean people will miss your wedding, graduation, baby shower, housewarming and retirement party with every excuse in the world, but they will fly thousands of miles to attend your funeral. Some of us are viewed as unworthy of the help that could jolly well save our lives. Boodram, the survivor still hears the screams of his fellow men. He still remembers their prayers as they cried, coughed, and gasped inside that pipe, banging the life out of it to be heard and rescued. His promise that he would send help, unfulfilled. All we become are memories, when it is too late. When it’s easier to bury us than to help us get better. That man may never come to terms with what happened. He reported that he repeatedly told the people on the surface that the other men were still alive and genuinely believed that they were being rescued while being transported to a medical facility.

The families of those men are still hurting today. Women lost husbands and lovers, and children lost fathers. Mothers lost sons. Brother and Sisters lost siblings, and the list goes on. Closure is something that a lot of people don’t get in tragic situations. An explanation as to what happened and why, and ways that it can be prevented in the future may be the key to healing. Unfortunate situations like that incident often shock the masses, but do we really learn lessons from them? Do we love harder knowing that people can cease to exist in the blink of an eye?

Do we forgive faster? Do we notice the signs of our friends and family drowning and reach out to help? Or do we swim to safety ourselves?

I pray that Mr. Boodram somehow finds peace and I thank the Universe for yet another life lesson.

Sincerely: A Sad Island Girl

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