African & Caribbean contributor – Joel O’Loughlin
She was a beautiful brown skin Jamaican girl. You couldn’t fail to notice her swaying down the street. The grasshoppers loafing on the corner would skreet sibilant mating calls as she pass. She gathered their gaze and dashed their aspirations without a thought. Full lips, caramel complexion and as Mama would say “she well built”.
Oh Carol…what a girl! And don’t think good looking is all she had, because she was as sharp as a cutlass. One day a cricket called out “wa you name baby love” smiling sweetly, she replied without a glance in his direction “big ambition like you”. Sweet spunky kid.
By chance I ran into Carol on Christmas Eve. She see me, but don’t see me. I see her but don’t say so. The ghost of her former self peeped into a corner of my eye drawing me to a happier time; back before she believed in a guy who could not believe his luck. She loved him dearly, he loved him more.
Photo courtesy womensviewsonnews.org
He silenced the grasshoppers with snarls, and chastised her for drawing their attention. Soon he had her under house arrest with a big belly and an empty fridge. They told me how he “thump her down”, “bruk up her hand”, “mash up her face”. Poor Carol. Nowadays they call it domestic violence, back then, and still, we just call it “wicked”.
What causes a man to do that to another human being? What demon lurks in the dark recesses of a culture possessing men to do the unthinkable. I’m not just talking about shooting girls for wanting to read, or even what that idiot did to Carol. It’s the bitter seed somehow implanted in boys that makes it natural for us to create mayhem in women’s lives.
Guys please don’t go denying it’s in you, because it lives in me. “Emancipate yourself from mental slavery none but ourselves can free our minds”. Let’s talk.
As you enjoy the festivities spare a thought for Carol my ghost of Christmas past.
