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Nowhere to go

posted Sep 13, 2010, 10:58 AM by Caribusiness Admin   [ updated Sep 13, 2010, 11:00 AM ]

A.D. 2010 - SOMEWHERE TO GO


Chapter one


Nowhere to go - Adult Disclosure is a hydro-monster to a society guilty of emotional, mental, physical and sexual abuse.


The scars of child abuse can be lived with but as an adult, when we look for acknowledgement of that abuse to satisfy the heart, denial and rejection can be fatal. There is an advertisement, which talks about a child’s rights to be a child and many adults hear that but did not know that they had rights when they were children.


CHERYL: (45 years old, black) My mother never ever said sorry to us. Far from being sorry I cannot get it out to her face to face because she screams if I mention these things, it is: “You lie! You Lie! You do not like me! I got high blood pressure and you trying to kill me!” She will not listen and I come away frustrated that I did not get to say what I wanted to say. After she did to me whatever she had to do to me and because I say it now she abuses me again by telling me that I must not say these things because I lie on her.


AGENT X: (45 years old, white). The amount of things I wasted in thinking life outside was a heaven, when it was dangerous. It is like being an animal - when parent rats leave a young rat a wild cat soon catches it. Through a lot of battles and fight I survived and became old and will die of old age but I was luckily that I did not get my head eaten off or fell into one of the traps.


Somewhere to Go serves to highlight and address problems of Adult Disclosure - some place, where the best counsellors listens genuinely, with out friction, to those who have been there to help rebuild psychological and financial, that collects and collates, interprets and disseminates aspects that are not much brought to the fore and not dealt with and to proceed towards legislation, which makes guardians responsible to protect the rights of a child and with no statue of limitations.


Any society, and it does not matter what it looks like, especially a small one like ours, that has so many children to disclose tells that the moral codes of those, who rule are defiled and not good. The risks associated with Adult Disclosure are deep in our psycho-socio and we do not want to acknowledge. It is not a matter of locking up anyone but about justice and making amends. It is awkward for organisations, politicians and rulers, financers, the ruling blood lines and elite media controllers to address Adult Disclosure because, through the years - statistics must be about eight out of ten - inside organizations are products of abuse: victims or perpetrators and as such will only be criticizing, exposing and pulling down themselves. It does not matter position or status; it is what is and too many hide it.


Impression is given that hands are tied. Nothing has been done. It is a huge public health problem, human resource and thus an economic problem. It can be taken to hand and solved but so far for all intents and purposes there is a veil of pretence at protest and the silence wanted by abusers, wherever and whenever, puts Adult Disclosures in positions that are not good.


So many everywhere sacrificed - dehumanized, thrown into the garbage and, in the end, when old enough to see through the human waste and degradation for whom there is nowhere to go.


The society needs re-transforming; it needs a change in thinking.

CHERYL:I need amends, it is not a want; it is a need. What was taken away from me as a child and at this age right now I am struggling with persons that do not know my story, want to tell me what to feel like and expect me to behaviour “normal.” For instance they do not understand what it does to me, when a man crooks his finger to call me.


They do not see my stepfather sit at the edge of a table and crook his index finger. So all like now I cannot take a man calling me like that; it does something to me seriously. They do not know or understand that when they do this to me I have to respond to them: ‘Please do not call me like that.’ My stepfather crooked his finger to call me and my brother and when we inched and got close enough he down in us with a dog hunter so I’d pee myself - one time. And then he would call us again: ‘Come I not done with you.’ And we inched again and when we get close enough another dog hunter lash and when it was not the dog hunter it was a black electric wire, as fat as my finger. Our house was full of this and persons say to you “Look past and through it. It is time you get over it.” They do not want to see because it would have to be dealt with.


I never discussed this with any organisation not even the church. I discuss it with God a lot. The Church is one of the foremost things that Satan uses the Catholic Church molested children and they molested their parents before them. There was no way to go because people just talked a lot of hype.


You hear these things on television and you figure there is some place for me. I went to the Child Care Board after I became and adult, last year. I waited and waited for the person to come but I had to go back to work. I do not have help: when my marriage broke down, I went through a divorce - alone and unloved and all of that. I was in shamble, I felt I was going off the top of my head but I remembered my sister’s uncle said to me: ‘You see you; you going end up in the mental!’


I did not want to prove him right, so I caught myself and went and sat under psychologists but things they asked and stuff like that I found it a waste of time. I decided no more when a psychologist said to me, after hearing my story: ‘We cannot do anything for you. You know what you need, you need God!’


I walked out of the office, sucked my teeth and said to myself: ‘If that is what it is and this person is a psychologist and this person cannot help me and they say go to God well then I will go there.’ God can because, when he tells you that your mother and father is going to forsake you he did not tell you that they are going to die; he said they are going to forsake you; so they are going to be living still. They do not want anything to do with me none of them care anything about me.


My upbringing has killed me financially, up until now I am shot. I came along with a mother with a belief that because her mother left her very young, when she was thirteen she was stopped from going to school to stay home and look after the rest and cook; it meant nothing for my mother, when she did the same thing to me at thirteen. I am financially crippled too. I went to a car dealership the other day trying to get from one place to the next because of medical reasons I cannot hop around and run around as I would like. I would love to have a little vehicle to go to the supermarket to buy some fish and those kinds of things. I went and the people told me I would need another job.”


*****

Adults of troubled families, who never had experience of a family, never had experiential knowledge or love, or wholesome family principles or ethics: in marriage and parenthood cannot implement these things in their lives. In a youthful state this cannot be overcome and once a certain age is reached and there is no link up with other families, who are wholesome the unfortunate is left in a situation to be taken advantage of - looking for the love that was not got from mother, a child is usually always on the outside, like a step child.


Some too old, even though subjected to knowledge; it is too late. Negative and harsh experiences are perpetuated and that breaks everything: home and business. The result is chaos.


A comparison between ideal families and impaired and troubled families and watch their progress based on performance. In the ideal family progeny are allowed experience of love, sound family principles and good values and invariable they do not depart from them and they carry it on. With family support everything goes better. They have gained their ideal knowledge experientially and as a result are able to implement it in their adult lives, when the mantle of marriage, fatherhood and motherhood is entrusted upon them through nature.


Impaired families with their inabilities, insecurities and incapacities kill, not in physical ways but in spiritual and emotional ways. A state of existence in which there is perpetual suffering and degradation; the purpose of, which is to cover sins and put a veil over evil.


CHERYL’S STORY continued


To look at me I am not a child but mentally, although I have passed the stage of looking for a mother. I always had a mouth thanks to my grandmother but back then I did not have enough sense. I cannot tell what happened. I was a child trying to figure out. I just knew I did what I did but now I can look back and what happened i like footprints of that times in the sand. At ten I told a cousin but we were not suppose to tell. I came to realization that my mother and father were interested in sex and when my mother told my father that she was pregnant I could imagine him saying Ooops!’ And moving on to the next short woman because he loved short women.


My father was already involved with a woman, who was pregnant. I know this because the woman’s daughter, my sister, after we grew up, we met and she told me things, which her mother told her. My mother used to cuss her mother, go to her work place and abuse her and things of that kind. My mother never told those stories. Later, when I asked her about these things, things between us got really vicious.


I was sent to my grandmother, my father’s mother, to push out the other woman and her child so they would not have an opportunity to get in there. My mother and her child was the one with his mother. My mother made my clothes because she was a needle worker and she sent them.


I lived between my grandmother and a lady next door who was not a relative. There I had everything. I used to go to school barefoot but that was not because I did not have shoes that was because my cousins were going to school barefoot. I felt comfortable I was well looked after I had plenty to eat not that I ate because I did not have appetite but there was always something to eat. We were poor but this lady used to sell biscuits and kerosene oil from her house. So there was always something. She had two daughters that I used to play with.


I am so thankful to my mother for giving me away. My six years with my grandmother is what saved me. A psychiatrist said: ‘Is there not a place you can go back to that you felt loved?’ And it was my grandmother’s house.


My mother was the woman in my father’s life but a new man came and she had no reason for me to be at my grandmother’s house. She came for me and I arrived back with this man when my mother was seeing him. They married. The man was way younger than her, about twelve years. He was not a Bajan so in marriage all he wanted was to stay in the island. After I grew to an adult I found out all of these things. He did not want a woman with five children and this young man treated us like I do not know what.


I am the middle child, two before me and two after me. When I first came to live with them and my sisters and brothers, when they did things for which they knew they would be lashed used to say for me to tell mummy it is me because I was like a favourite. Tell mummy is you and when I tell mummy it is me I would not get licks - until that wore out. Telling mummy and not getting licks wore out. Then is when chaos started.


I began to get licks and it came to a point I started to run away from the licks, the abuse, from everything else and from this life that I did not know. I did not like and I could not get accustomed. I was accustom to love and to people that talked to me. I do not like this woman that is my mother. I had to fight to love her.


I was living with my grandmother and a next door neighbour who was so nice to me. I had two parents and elderly. I raise with the elderly and I love the elderly. Now, with my mother, it is licks; it is beating; it is bad words for nothing at all: eating the sugar, drinking milk, running around outside: I was about nine years old I cleaned off the table and the motion of cleaning the table, for some reason looked to my mother as if I was wucking-up.


My mother jumps on me and starts putting a fist in me. ‘I tell you clean off the table I did not tell you wuck-up in here.’ Sounds on the radio I could not sing, especially if they had anything to do with love that was licks. She was protecting herself from her husband for at that time my stepfather was sexually molesting my older sister so then I was next in line.


She wore a duster with pockets and she put five dollars in one pocket and forgot; she took off the duster and forgot, where she had put the money: “You all are getting nothing to eat today if I do not find that money.’ We had no tea, no bread, nothing to eat because five dollars gone and we have to bring it back. Dust time when she put on the duster she found the money. She did not say sorry, she went and made some sugar water and gave us to drink and we went into our bed like that. It was not easy.


School was a double whammy. I walked through the school gate late and the headmaster does not know about me, he did not ask any questions but said:All the late one let me get your names down in this book. You all have to go in detention in the evening.’


He did not understand that I cannot go into detention in the evening because my school finishes at three and according to my parents I have to be home by three thirty. They worked out the amount of time to get from there to home and when I get home I have all kinds of thing to do. I did not go to the detention, I went home.


Next morning I made certain that I awoke extra early; did what I had to do: fed what I had to feed, carried out who and what I had to carry out, cleaned up what I had to clean up, picked rice and what I had to pick and walked a good way to school. I got to school early and into the hall and felt smart. At the end of prays the headmaster spoke about children that did not go to detention the previous evening and he called out names to come on to the platform to be flogged with a bamboo.


The treble whammy is my poxy feet. ‘You bony, big-eye, bad-looking, poxy-foot bitch.’ Those were the five lovely words my mother called me. She cussed me everyday about it and children scorned my eczema. I walked on top of that platform and got my behind cut with a bamboo in front of the entire school.


The next time I was ever late for school I did not go to school that day. That is how my little mind reasoned but for adults that was truant. So it is in my life today. I missed out a lot in my life but adults still want to come in my life to tell me foolishness. I live in an old abandon house, slept on the beach, under dinghies - from seven years to ten to eleven. My mother did not care. I was lucky if I got sweet water and a bread. She did not come looking for me. I heard stories that she was up and down with the police but I never felt like she came to look for me because every time that I go back home it was blows. I run away from home and made her look shame.


People do not know or understand: a policeman found me on a beach as I crawled under a dinghy to go to sleep. I was between nine and ten years old. My period came at twelve and by then I had stop running away.


On Pebbles Beach, I do not know if he was a policeman but he said he was a policeman. ‘Where you live? I am a police I carrying you home.’ He held my hand and walked me across a road to the Garrison pasture, when we got to near to or the middle of the pasture he pushed me down and told me to take off my clothes and as he went to unbuckle his pants cars lights appeared from across the pasture.


"What you doing?’ It was a taxi, he ran and left me there with the taxi man.


I see you all walking across the pasture and I knew something was wrong. Where you live? Get in here. I and carrying you home.’


Second man for that night to carry me home. By that time I really wanted to go home. I got into the car and told him, where I lived. He sped up and drove someplace far. He pulled in between two cane fields and parked. I am thankful again.

Get out and go in the back.’ He said. He could not have told me something better. I jumped out and ran through the canes. I remembered my brother said if lost look for bus to city stops. I found my way back to town. Ten years old I was.


ME: That is traumatic.


CHERYL: “I know so! The only help that I have to get through this is my God because I have found him”.


ME: But you had to find God you did not have a choice. When you run away where would you go?


CHERYL: “I knew that I was not going to be sexually molested by my stepfather and what ever it took I was going to do and if that meant running away at age of eight and nine that is what I did and did it without animosity. I was just a frightened child I was born in 1964 and by the 1970’s, at eight I walked streets at night with two men, my elder brother and a homeless man that is still on the streets. He was homeless and nasty but he protected me and my brother. We took food from garbage cans of Kentucky Fried Chicken in Hastings. We watched to see, what people left back from their meals and where they threw and hoped we got it.


Wicked and hard-ears the society said but they did not see from what we ran.” \


EDITORAL: The child that has to fend for itself will steal; it will lie; it will do a lot of things not because it is a bad child but because those are the things it has to do in order to survive.


CHERYL: We were taken to the Probation Office because we ran away - me and my eldest brother. We were questions with our parents there. The probation officer searched our bodies but my mother had already groomed us: ‘When they ask you about the marks on your body.’ I still have a long one on my back. ‘You say that you all fall out of a donce tree.’ Not that we were brutalized and that we were beaten with electric wires, pieces of wood, tamarind rods, anything and everything, what ever my mother and step father would get their hands on. Some times my mother beat us down on the ground and she kicked us and do all those kinds of things.


We had to lie and say we fell out of the dunce tree. In a room, in front of our parents, we could not say anything different but the lie. They brought us in with our parents and we left with our parents. We were put in a position where we had to lie because you are going back home with these two brutal people. That implausible explanation was accepted. No one said come let me take you somewhere safe. We were abused horrifying and they got away with it. Nobody followed up or visited our house.


When we get home we going cut wunnah asses.’ She warned and so said so done.


My sister ignored it. I was seventeen years and tried to alert her to, who mummy was. We talked superficially. ‘Mummy is no good she does not really like you.’ She said that is the past, forget it, and she did not want to here anything about it. ‘One of us got to say sane and that is me’ She said. By then her sexual molestation was finished. Wunna always bringing that up.’ She said.


In adulthood Mummy lived overseas and every time she telephoned everything was about her; her aches and pains and at the end of the conversations she said: ‘Love you!’ and I found myself saying; ‘Love you too!’ I felt awful because that is not truth; she does not care about me and I do not love her but I say it because that is mother. I and my sister discussed it and decided we were not going to respond.


When my mother returned recently to the family house, where my eldest sister was alone and who my mother treated as she like and was always able to get over. Up until then, last year, when she slapped her in her face and said to me: ‘If you did not just have an operation I would slap you too.’ My sister said: ‘You cannot hit her.’ My mother slapped me and I slapped her back. Since then my sister has not awoken from that slap and said: ‘I did not expect Mummy to come back here now and disrespect me so.’ It has made her see different towards to mother since then.


Everyday to get up and face the world when things cannot get done sometimes it is impossible to sweep and clean because mother is in my head. I dealt with her in my thoughts - In my head I put her in her seat to sit down and as much as she wanted to scream and shout and tell me I lie that is what it is and she is in her seat. I told her: ‘You are no good; your are an evil, wicked woman that has been really awful to me.’


What I learnt from a child observing from invisibility left me wise to people’s behaviour. I can see, hear and understand innuendoes so come to me again with foolishness. That gives an added problem in a society that requires you to bow and I cannot bend.


I know how I felt when it was done to me and it does not feel good so when I see someone going through it I know how they feel and I would do anything to help them?


Persons sitting in positions want to tell me: ‘She is your mother you have to humble under her and do not answer her back.’ I have to take all the bull that was and is put in front of me and do not say anything about it. I had to come to God and since I came to know my God he help me through this and is still helping. Scriptures and other publications told me that I was suppose to work on the fruitage of my spirit but people use the bible to say: ‘honour thy father and mother that thy days may be long in the land’ , when they hold that scripture. My bible also reads: ‘Parents do not be acerbate your children.’ My mother had something to do too. She cared nothing about me, did nothing about my eczema and in my life for me. Everything she did was to tear me down. Do not just point the finger at me.


I had to leave home very early. I did not know that I was pregnant until I was four months because of irregular periods. I started going to doctors myself. My son spent a month in an incubator because he was born premature weighing three pounds eleven ounces and when I took him from the hospital after a week in my mother’s house sleeping two bedrooms away from her with a little lamp that I hung on the wall she came to me one morning.


Cheryl, you are going to have to look for some place to go because he say that the light that you burn in your bedroom keeps him from sleeping.’


It did not keep him from sleeping, when he used to get up from next to her and come into our room and take up my sister and from out of our bed an carry outside and have sex with her. That did not keep him up. She was two years older than I was. My mother knew I could tell you that she knew.


I had to leave and live away from home with my son’s father and his brother in the heart of the City. I do not want to say Nelson Street so I will say in the heart of the city. Apart from that I was not working because of no education.”


CHERYL: Ronald was quiet and he spoke softly and hardly used to talk. He was getting beat from the on set. I always remember him being beaten and very badly. They beat him with a dog hunter. I lived it and I saw it. He was wickedly abused for no reason at all. They beat him so much that his mental, physical and spiritual development was impaired. We use to run away together Ronald.


He walked the streets and picked up bottle his nickname was ‘Bottle Man.’ What I know about Ronald is that my mother had five of us and if there is one that my God is going to say come, it is Ronald. Ronald never did anybody anything. Some people pointed their finger at him became he ran away from home and he stole but they were reason. He stole to eat and stuff like that. But he was a shy person.


Ronald’s father was my mother’s father – incest - and my mother knew. He found out, when he was in his late twenties, “Now, I know why mummy never loved me.” Ronald said. He killed himself a while after that. He lived in a little old house in Bay Land. He was thirty in 1999, when he committed suicide.


I worked in the Virgin Island in an art gallery. The telephone rang for me and Margaret, my sister, told me that Ronald passed away. That was horrible. I could not believe it. She did not tell me suicide. Seeing the way that she treated him told me that there was no other treatment from her. My brother kill himself and my mother does not connect that he kill himself because of her treatment and that he was living under those condition because of her.


She came for his funeral. She stepped in his house and said: “This is how he did living.” He had the smallest wrought iron bed, which I have ever seen and a nice dog. He did not have a fridge; he used to keep his biscuit and milk in a bucket.


My mother walked with four suits of clothes, four pairs of shoes and four pairs of eyeshades for his funeral and. She lined them out on a bed and asked me, which one I thought she should wear. I have not got over my brother‘s death as yet. I am not dealing with that I push it back every time it comes up. I cannot deal with the way that my mother treated him. I had to deal with my mother knowing that my sister was being sexually abused and molested by my stepfather and she left Barbados and went to St. Lucia with my father’s family and left me alone with this man. I was fourteen.


The next thing - one time my stepfather used to make me dial a number and ask for a certain woman. I told my mother and one day they had a noise and my mother told him that I told her. He turned to me and said: They going find you somewhere dead.” My mother started to get on like a fowl. “Cheryl, he threatening you. He treating you. Call the police. I was a child.


My sister, Margaret, had moved out because they chased her out. Basically I have to say she is alright because everybody every individual have to do whatever pleases them and if they want to hide it and feel safe then go ahead and hide it. I realize what happen to my sister she did not have my grandmother. Margaret had no did not see any alternative. She was sneaking away from home to go see her boyfriend and when she got pregnant I wrote a note telling mummy and threw it through mummy’s bedroom window. My mother and my stepfather thought it was his child.

Margaret was shut out, when they left for work in the evening she had to leave, walk the street and stay at people. Her boyfriend would buy her stuff and she could not put groceries in the kitchen cupboards, she had to keep them in a box under the bed. She had to keep her stuff separate from ours even though she said nothing and accepted everything. When the child born my mother had love the child she thought it was her husband’s who went around the neighbour and told persons that the child was his. Margaret never confronted her or him. She never spoke about her abuse. She never said a word. Margaret is not normal she is looking for love and she is accustom to being abuse. She had a husband that gave her hell and beat her up. While in New York she had a friend living there and she would leave work and go an eat there. Margaret friend knew her history so when Margaret’s new boy fiend started the friend toldl mummy: “I hope that Margaret is going to find some kind of peace and love in her life instead of one beating after the next and the molestation of her step father and all of that.


Who tell her tell my mother that from that day my mother did not want anything to do with that woman. “How dare this woman, what she know about Margaret to say them kinds of things.” Margaret made dozens of roti skins and my mother and when she was returning to Barbados she asked my mother to take back a dress for this friend daughter’s. “Me I aint carrying no dress for nobody.” She never liked Margaret’s children. She said that my sister was getting big-head, short-me-crutch children for the man that she had and that she married. She sat on the phone and bad talk Margaret and me and all the children.


She did not like my sister’s children she said my sister was getting big- head, short-me-crutch children for the man that she had that she was married to so she never like Margaret children and she would come home from work and sit on the phone and bad talk Margaret on the phone and me and all the children. She does that with everybody.


The reason that I can articulate this thing so well in coming through life is because I got my foot in St. Andrew with my grandmother and the lady. I knew something wrong but everybody behaved normal.


My mother is a nasty evil woman - mother or not. after I had my son I realized that my mother did not love us because with my child I ran to him at every beck and call. I love, I would have taking off anybody head for him.. I thought I could manage without her but I have caused my son a lot of harm for which I am sorry.


After my mother said I cannot stay in the house. I left home to live with my son’s father in the City. I missed my mother. I would call her at work and she would not want to talk to me. One day I was so lonely that I caught the bus and I got off in Ford’s Road - my child on my hip. I saw her in on the machine in the window and before I get to the door my mother ran to the back gate and she said: “Go long go long, he home.” I was eighteen and I walked every step down to the City with Ryan on my hip because I figured that anyone, who saw my face would have seen what just happen to me because I felt so bad.


She packed boxes with underwear for her husband’s family and nothing for her grandchildren. I told her you do not like your grandchildren and when I told her that. My son was wearing one of two suits that I had given her money to buy for him. She grabbed my child in the chest and had him pushing back and froth and I had her across the room. I said: “Do not ever do that to my child.”

She is my mother spelt madder. But that is my son. She telephone my father, who had nothing to do in my life except producing the sperm.

She ignored my child except when he got married. I was married in1993 to the assistant superintendent of the prison and living in the British Virgin Islands. She wanted to be the mother hen and send everything and we allowed to. She had to pretend because she was going to retire in the Virgin Island on my ass and in my house.


You know you are very beautiful with your big eye.” She said and I thought, poxy-foot bitch an all I could say was: “Yes.” When my marriage broke up she came to my house and told my husband all sorts of fart although she was in no position to tell him anything. He was a mistake in my life for if he was my husband I would have been able to explain to him what I went through in my life. He would have been able to listen to me and understand. I was married to him for nine years and together for fifteen.


I walked around with eczema for all my life and I got no kind of help. I got no help. We slept on old clothes. I am not complaining about living in a poor house; I could lay in any poor house with love. It does not matter if you do not have a stove and got to cook on three rocks in the yard. I have done that. That is how I lived with my grandmother. Three rocks in the yard and we cooked. I used ate out of the saucepan cover and slept on grass beds with chinks so anybody, who hears me and do not think that I complain; as a child I had work to do that is not it.


There is nothing wrong with a child having work but there is something wrong with my mother, who was building a house and instead of going and buying marl to fill in you make your children walk around the neighbourhood with buckets and pick up every rock that they could find. Something wrong with that. This is the thing that gets me upset with many adults they do not see that as abuse.


EDITOR: All the misery society built on cruelty it is no measure of health to be profoundly sick society.


AGENT X: My mother is in the same category as Cheryl’s parents but she is sophisticated. In Cheryl’s situations, it is more seeable. The relationship to my mother and me and the form it takes is the ideal of what Cheryl’s mother would like it to be, that is to be totally divorced from her children. That is what my mother wanted. She is out of the country having a life of her own and doing her own thing.


Ours was not a situation, where we did not have money. My father is Portuguese and my mother French and English. My father’s family had much money and were controllers and influence in Guyana and Trinidad, not here in Barbados. My father was a pilot flying for the British Airways and he met my mother as an airhostess.


The relationship was accidental. I get the impression that he was just lusting after her because she was an attractive and very beautiful girl. She was pregnant and in those days and those circumstances she had to get married. I am a bastard in the family and the reason why they married, outside of that they would not have. When she got married she had to quit her job because married women could not fly. Some years later she divorced and went back to be an air hostess.


The importance of being an air hostess was to get to America. She wanted a better opportunity. In Trinidad in those days it was fashionable to go to night clubs and mix with American men and the goal was to get to the States - the big apple My mother was going on in family life and was more or less a controlled person and my uncle; her half brother, the undermining factor, took her to night clubs while he womanized.


My mother divorced my father when I was seven or eight years. We lived in Trinidad and the sexual abuse of me and my brother started there and ended there but it started really young, we were about five or six years old. Both my uncle and father used to put us to suck their private parts. I do not think my father was too right in his head because of family history, it was disclosed late in the 90s, back home in Guyana, that he used to take speed, LSD and drugs in the 60s. This was not a known or a well-publicized thing back then. My mother does not know up to now about my sexual abuse. I never told her.


It was my maternal great grandmother, who brought us up and, who stopped the abuse. She was in the house and she did not know. When I told her and she stopped it instantly. She marched into my uncle’s bedroom and then marched into my father’s bedroom and quarrelled with them. My uncle came out, afterwards and asked me if our father was putting us to do that and he was putting us to do it too.


Throughout the years coming up as a younger man he never abuse me like that again, what he did they were times, in my teens, when he seemed to go off the edge but he never went, where he should not have gone. He would lie in his bed and tell me to come and stand up over him, just stand over him. I do not know if somehow he found me lustful and appealing. When a man is sexually perverted anything could happen, he finds pleasure in insanity.


My father is mad and senile now. I do not believe he was abused as a child. His abuse to us was not violent; I was not traumatized. In our society, it is taught to accept it as normal. No body talked about it. Nobody cared. I felt annoyed and disgusted; it should not have been done.


My brother became homosexual. I believe prompted from my uncle. We were still in Trinidad and my uncle used to put us to caress each other and feel up each other like man and woman. It caught on in my brother but not in me. He told us to go and urinate and he watched.


We arrived in Barbados and found that our mother’s family did not embrace outsiders, did not mix, they had peculiar ways and were scornful, even amongst their own. They do not associate with some of their own. The richer family members looked down on the less fortunate. Our mother’s side were basically rivals with our father’s side. It was a clash of cultures and since our father never took responsibility or was capable of taking responsibility for us and left us in their care, deserted us, even though they had a lot of money, my mother’s family got back at them by abusing us. We were in their way plus they figured that we could inherited some of my father’s family’s money and we would be richer than them.


They were their own self-proclaimed gods; had their own self-proclaimed empire and they did not want anybody to come in and infringe on them. It was a type of cover-up. They believed that everybody outside was below them.


We did not have material deprivation only, when I got older and we came to Barbados. It was torture. We were forced to suffer deprivation while my mother’s side of our family though we were living around them and they had money and stuff we had nothing. They pushed us to a side. We were given no food nothing. We were skin and bones. My great grandmother was ostracized and victimized for helping us out. I get the impression that my mother’s side of the family, left unchecked, would have killed us.


I started to walk the street from my teenage high school years in Barbados. I was not homeless; I just could not stay home. I became very restless. At home was so much negativity, arguments, quarreling, criticism, pulling down and nothing to do. I never stayed at home. I walked.


My upbringing has affected my whole life. It has me in a way of life right now where I am not married, I have no children, I have no property. I was thrown out there to perpetuate the rat race or the cat race. Our mental and social development was seriously impaired.


I walked all over Barbados barefooted with tattered clothes. Growing up was a disaster, a nightmare. I feel embarrassed. It is not a case of pride that I compare myself with other people. I wanted to identify with other people put the damage was done to me: physically, mentally and emotionally. Socially I was a misfit: not educated or groomed and no match to people I met. Everything I did they were always ahead of me.


As a young man in my early twenties, out for the first time people on the outside seemed better. It was a mistaken concept to believe that outside would be better and good. At that vulnerable stage if I had met right people, who felt good about me and they had taken an interest in me, brought me to a seasoned stage, married me to their daughter, I would have been in very different circumstances.


We were not taught to steal or misbehave in public; that came mostly from the white element of the family. We come up pretty moral and we would not trouble children we would not get into much sexual mischievous - if there was anything good about my family that was it.


I was not trained in being careful, who I accepted as friends. I had no perception of mixing up with the wrong people. I met life and death situations with a wrong clique. I mixed with the worst Indian Muslims, when it came to racism and meanness. They were sorrow and if I had stayed with them I would have drowned in distress.


I took twenty years to save one hundred and thirty thousand dollars; the last half of that money came along in the last half of the years yet these people had $200,000.00 BMWs, big mansions, big hotels, when they were poorer than us, when they came. They did not do that by selling clothes in suitcases, that was a front. They dealt with Colombians. The government and police were on their payroll and every year they threw parties for politicians and police.


I learnt what not to do from them. I should have divorced myself, when I understood but I kept on because I had nothing better with which to replace them. People said: “Man leave from around those crazy people. They do not like you.” I kept stubbornly behind them like an idiot.


These people could have seriously marred me psychologically and emotionally and hampered my development.


I do not blame my mother for my neglect because she was a victim of circumstances. My mother’s family was the real abusers, she was dragged in and she escaped but how she escaped was not principled for she was not principled, there is a warp in her thinking. She used to drink a lot of alcohol, habits that are not healthy. She said that my maternal great grandmother and her grandmother, the one that stopped the abuse, was the closet thing she had to a mother.


Her grandmother was high class, used to run guest house and hotel and yet used to sleep with everybody: taxi driver and the sweeper. She was one of those white women, who gravitated towards black men because she believed that they have big penises. It was said she went around Indian people and, when she came back she had adopted a real sprit of insatiable greed: very cheap, miserly, counted everything. She slept with her own mother’s boy friends, had numerous abortions and got my mother from her mother’s boy friend, a French man. They were drunken and they did not get married. He was a cricketer, not for the West Indies team. Cricketers were given high respect and high attention; it was a big thing.


My uncle’s mother, the one that abused me was a phenomena and possessed. She was into witchcraft, went to obeah men and her rivals, some Chinese people, she claimed that one did not like her so they sent her bed sheets flying all over the place and started to burn.


My great grandmother was bitter because she did not like her husband, who used to abuse her. He came home and raised her skirt, pulled down her panties and inspected her for a man’s semen. Children were in the house and having seeing this they tended to disrespect her. She walked out on him after twenty-five years.


My great grandmother was morally sound but a victim of circumstances, likewise her off spring, through out their lives, were in relationships that were not healthy; they became corrupt, evil-minded, opportunistic and greedy. she told me that her father was in a deal with black slaves, he doubled crossed them in some way, they put a curse on him and told him that no relationship would last and from my great grandmother’s father side down to the present no relationship lasted.


The problem has its roots in the cruelty and oppression of slavery, where family life is comedy. A man sees a woman and he lusts. There is no education of what family life is about and it cannot be described as matriarchal and fatherhood anything patriarchal, people just move on in the scene and they are no good to themselves or anybody.


I was never bitter to my mother. She is guilt of abandonment but she was a child when she had me. She could not have been an air hostess at fifteen now that I am thinking unless they told me lies. Another version my mother tells me is that before my father’s family allowed her to marry my father they checked out her family’s social background, to see what, where and who they came from.


My mother was opportunist; she wanted opportunity. She was in a marriage with children at a young age and controlled by a society, where the wrong priorities are taught: get a big job, get a big name. Careerism is an aspect of life, an essential thing; it can be pursued and used wholesomely but it should not take precedent.


The last contact I had with my mother was this year. I met her with a friendly smile land said “Hi!” to make friends.


Oh! Your hair is not cut. Oh! You look so dirty. You need to cleanup yourself.” She was scornful as usual.


Had I been allowed to live in a normal family life I would be recognized but nobody recognizes my knowledge. The knowledge I have overwhelms me. I do not believe there is anything I can do with it other than take it, assess it, assimilate it and categorize it. All I did was build a reputation based on my good works throughout the island and I try to keep a good relation.


EDITORIAL: You are one of the few people, in the area of mathematics of calculations and computing that main street academics and scientists do not know and who knows what goes on in the world and you are up to date. How are we going to pass on your knowledge? You can write a book.


AGENT X: I have discovered alternative ways. One American scientist, who worked for the navy was so impressed that he took some of my discoveries back. Nobody here would understand. It would not make any sense to them. The mainstream world teaches that all scientific discoveries are to be given over to the mainstream over lords to be exploited by the Ruling Elite of the World. You are recognized by what they can exploit form you but you, the discoverer, are given very little recognition for your contribution but for me I am different I use my discoveries to benefit me and my immediate associates to fight the World Order people and use my discovery to fight them. I do not join hands with the World Order. I find ways to work without and around them because they are just mind controllers.


I am capable to write a cure to all those ills and problems. I would go about it in a spiritual way. The problem lies in the fact that this society does not know what love is; they have never experienced it as it should be and far less have never been taught how to handle it or how to implement it. They are not trained as parents – mothers and fathers – they came up in a crude way without education in a wholesome way to rear up families. In other words it is a fated way. This country has gone; it is possessed. The book could be called THE CURE. The definition of love is the cure that fully in its entirety is the solution to all those problems.


I have no one so the society has lost because of how I was pushed down; if I had been allowed to live in a normal family life I would be recognized. Nobody recognizes me but in Barbados everybody looks up at a white man and say: “bow down to the white man and get position and money and a lot of them are brainless. Black people either think I am an Indian or white and Indian but they do not normally see me as white in the sense of white; they do not recognize the Portuguese skin but although I have nothing they think that I am superior to them, see me as an overlord but I do not pay them any mind and white people tend to embrace me. All I did was built a reputation based on my good works throughout the island and I try to keep a good relations with everybody.


EXAMPLE THREE


GLENN: Both my mother and her husband (my Daddy) have gotten away; they used me to legitimise one another and made it clear that no one was to interfere. I was made to call my mother’s husband daddy but he has never called me son. He has only ever spoken to me in functional ways – pass the salt. He calls me “the other one” or “your son” or “somebody out there to you” or anything so. I am ashamed of it. It is the worst life.


I will never call him anything but Daddy. That is what she and he told me to call him, Daddy. Last Christmas day I knocked at my mother’s front door, the door bell was not working and Mr. Man (Daddy) looked outside and said to her: “Somebody out there to you.” She came and let me in and I said: “Happy Christmas Daddy!” He did not greet me. The only time he said any thing to me was when he wanted to change the channel.


When I was fifteen or sixteen years old, I caught a bus, first time on my own, I got off at a stop and walked through a track across a field and ended up at a place called Pegwell. I took a right turn and walked up a hill. I looked for a house that I knew was there but it was not there anymore. There was a house nearby and I sat on the step. The reason I was there was to find out what it was about the house that I needed to know. I waited and around dust a tall woman came and when the woman got in the middle of the hill she stopped, she looked, she started to walk again and she stopped. By the time she got to me they were tears running down he eyes and she said: “Peter how long you was here.”


The name Peter freaked me out because no body calls me Peter that does not know me very well.

Your mother told you.” She said.


What do you mean?” I asked. And that is the day I knew who my father was. I did not know the connection to that house that was no longer there. I just went. It turned out to be my grandmother’s house and the one on which steps I sat was this woman, who was my aunt my real father’s sister. My mother had introduced me to my father as my uncle. How he got to be my uncle I do not know. I do not even know if she told that to me in front of him. I was to call him uncle.


I was walking through Pegwell one day and somebody said: “That is Wilton son!” Awhile after that I talked to my mother and mentioned the name Pegwell and my mother swore that she did not know where Pegwell is.


I had lived at my grandmother, my real father’s mother right there in Pegwell at the spot where I had been drawn. My mother had dumped me there at my grandmother’s my father’s mother and never came to visit. When I was three she married and never came to visit. I do not remember any of it. My mother came and got me, when I was six and had introduced him to me as my Daddy. He took me to St. Vincent to his mother. So I have a fake grandmother - a grand mummy – then he brought me back and then totally ignored me.


My mother has me living two different lives with two different families. She will not tell me the truth. I have two fathers there is daddy and father. My father is my father but my daddy is not my daddy and she is driving my daddy crazy; the man hates me because he knows that sometime I am going to remember.


My real father’s family have never denied me. It is the worst life. My aunt has spoken to her. I live in my aunt’s – my father’s sister’s house, when my mother threw me out. My real father’s side of my family cannot do anything about it, they have spoken to her and they say: “Leave her.” My mother does not own my baby pictures my real father’s family own them.


My maternal aunt also told me the story about Wilton, my father. I was about sixteen and in Winnipeg and a cousin there, Tony, called me Breeze and kept on. It meant nothing to me, when he was tired he laughed and made some other comment When I came home I asked her about why Tony jeered me with the name Breeze and she told me that my father worked on a Breeze truck.


I have questioned my mother smartly.


I had just come to live with my mother and her new husband, who conveniently was a seaman, when I told my new Daddy that I met Uncle Wilton. I was terrified to walk across the Swing Bridge because it moved Uncle Wilton took us home that night and on the way we had to cross that bridge and I pulled back I do not remember the words he used but whatever he told me I was fully confident that nothing was gong to happen to me I walked across the bridge.


I was excited that I had done this. Uncle Wilton stayed the night with my mother and when my “daddy” came back from sea I was still excited and I told him about my uncle and crossing the bridge. She started to beat me from that moment. She used to beat me with sticks. One time she beat me and I ran under the bed and one of my feet was not far enough under. She picked up a hot iron, grabbed my foot pulled it and stamped my thigh with the iron. Look, the mark is still there. She beat me for any and everything. I guess the two of them could not stand the sight of me.


And one night I came home from a debating society meeting about quarter to seven and she hit me in the head with a Baygon can. I said: “I do not understand why you treat me like this all this time and you never tell me that that man ain’t my father.” These two people did not want me and I wonder why they did not leave me with my grandmother in my happy and loving circumstances. My mother must have told him that I was his child. It would have been easy for her, his being a seaman.


My problem in my life is my penis. One time I used to wear all sorts of baggy jeans and now I say I wearing skinny jeans like everybody else. My mother touched my penis all the time.


She used to adjust my penis in my pants on morning when I dressed. She used to put it in the middle and touched it all the time, up to the age of sixteen. Some morning I would be all right and she would look and say it is right.


EDITOR: She feels his penis and then beats him. He is a child he cannot get excited by being beaten. To get someone from one state of mind or passion into another usually involves some type of trauma and physically is usually a good ways. This turning on and then beating him was to train him for later life. Maybe it did not take. It has happened; mothers beat and forced sons to have sex with them.


She is married to and the man, whom she makes me call Daddy goes crazy because the man hears that I am going to St. Vincent, to see his mother, my supposed grandmother, he does not say hello to his mother and they do not to ask me anything about him.


She dumped me in somebody house for six years. Later on, when my mother threw me out of her house and I went to live with her she told me that told me that, when my father was in England my daddy sent a letter to my father telling him that he was to give up all rights to me now that he is married to her and he is going to adopt me. I kept this in my heart and never let my mother know. The only time we had an intimate conversation was when she told me she had diabetes.


Once I got a little reconciliation but my mother had a scheme. Said: ‘Some days I feel like divorcing him.’ I did not acknowledge that I heard. She wanted support but then the man was never there. After he retired that was the hardest point of her life.



(To be continued next week)







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