Chapter 9-My Mother's Evil_ My Years of Pain

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" colspan=2 height=146 BGCOLOR="#006699" TEXT="#080000" background="0c3085a3.jpg"> <div> <FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#CCCCE4" FACE="Eurostile" >       </FONT><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#FF66FF" FACE="Arial Narrow" ><I>      </I></FONT><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#EEEEEE" FACE="Eurostile" >  </FONT><FONT SIZE="7" COLOR="#FF00FF" FACE="Pristina" >West Cliffe:</FONT><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#CCFF00" FACE="Dauphin" > </FONT><B>T</B><B>h</B><B>e Place I Called Home; The Place I walked Alone </B>   </div> <div> <IMG SRC="2fe58010.gif" border=0 width="600" height="1" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></div> <div>                                                                                                                                           Chapter Nine  </div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" width=210 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000" background="0c4d2e83.jpg"> <div> <B>Jamaica~Noamie's Negril.Com</B><FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#FFCC33" FACE="Eurostile" > </FONT></div> <div> <I> </I><FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#CCCCE4" FACE="Eurostile" ><A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Jamaica Noamies Negril.Com "><U>Home </U></A></FONT><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#CCCCE4" FACE="Eurostile" > </FONT><I> </I></div> <div>  </div> <div> Memories</div> <div> <IMG SRC="36a65860.jpg" border=0 width="101" height="134" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></div> <div> <A HREF="id57.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Memories"><U>Memories</U></A></div> <bR> <div> <IMG SRC="2fe58010.gif" border=0 width="600" height="1" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></div> <div> <A HREF="id29.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Negrils Chronicle"><U>Negril's Chronicle</U></A></div> <div> <IMG SRC="2fe58010.gif" border=0 width="600" height="1" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></div> <bR> <div> Who is <A HREF="id2.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Who is Noamie?"><U>Noamie?</U></A></div> <bR> <div> <IMG SRC="2fe58010.gif" border=0 width="600" height="1" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></div> <bR> <div> <A HREF="id74.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="The Frog That Would Not Let Me Forget"><U><B>A Frog That Would Not Let me Forget</B></U></A></div> <bR> <div> <IMG SRC="2fe58010.gif" border=0 width="600" height="1" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></div> <div> West Cliffe:</div> <div>  The Road That Got Us <A HREF="id20.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Chapter 2 1990: It Was April It Was East"><U>Here</U></A></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <IMG SRC="2fe58010.gif" border=0 width="600" height="1" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></div> <bR> <div> My Mother's Evil</div> <div> Acceptance</div> <bR> <div> <IMG SRC="2fe58010.gif" border=0 width="600" height="1" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></div> <div> Trekking through Nompriel Mountain At 4:00AM To Feed A Swine</div> <div>   </div> <div> <IMG SRC="2fe58010.gif" border=0 width="600" height="1" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></div> <div> Finally Speaking Out</div> <div> Going Home:1990</div> <bR> <bR> <div> <IMG SRC="2fe58010.gif" border=0 width="600" height="1" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"><FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#FF66FF" FACE="Desdemona" > </FONT></div> <div> Connecting the Bloodline</div> <div> Tillbury 1964</div> <bR> <div> <IMG SRC="2fe58010.gif" border=0 width="600" height="1" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"><FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#FF66FF" FACE="Desdemona" >  </FONT></div> <div> - <FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#FFCC33" FACE="Eurostile" >The Evil Clan</FONT></div> <div> - <FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#FFCC33" FACE="Eurostile" >Dead_ Uncle Kat   Stone</FONT></div> <div>   Grampa House </div> <bR> <bR> <div>  </div> </td> <td valign="top" height=334 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div> <I>Chapter 9-My Mother's Evil_ My Years of Pain</I></div> <div> <B>Chapter Nine                          </B></div> <div> <B>My Mother's Evil- Years of Pain :  ~60  </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>  </B></div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <B>Chapter Nine </B></div> <div> <B><IMG SRC="3be7e7b0.jpg" border=0 width="126" height="123" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></B></div> <div> <B>B</B><FONT SIZE="1" COLOR="#6666CC" FACE="Comic Sans MS" ><B>ehold, we count them happy which endure. Ye have heard of the patience of Job, and have seen the end of the Lord; that the Lord is very pitiful, and of tender mercy_ James 5:11</B></FONT></div> <bR> <div>      Thank you God for the Mercy that you have shown unto me. For when I didn't have a father; you were my father. And, when I didn't have a mother you became my mother. A mother is supposed to love her child. A mother is supposed to be that 'soft spot' for her child; mine made herself a stranger to me.</div> <bR> <div> <B><U>My Mother's Evil:</U></B><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#6666CC" FACE="Baskerville Old Face" > </FONT></div> <div> From day one, I have never tried to hide my mother's physical abuse on me. That is why I having become familiar to bullshit, is all too aware of foolishness with and about people. </div> <div> Tell me that a lot of mothers weren't aware of the abuse upon their little boys by priests, and I will tell you that, 'that mother' is a liar who chooses to look the other way, and thus forced upon her son the 'then' accepted 'social norms' of their society. For to become a good alter- boy, was to know what it was like to be fondled by a catholic priest. I have a lot of respect for the Catholics church, and the churches of such located in Jamaica, as I will tell you, in that indeed my godfather is a priest. </div> <bR> <div> Children are by knowledge 'talkers' and unless, they know that their parents are aware that secrets is the norms in their homes, they too will become prey to keeping certain things secret. Boys by definition will talk and are incline to be close to their mothers. However, we, growing up in a Puritan society, wherein assimilation mean secrets as secret meant getting ahead will stoop to any folly, and at the same time put on our face that innocent mode.</div> <div> Over and over I have people to tell me that my mother is the sweetest and kindest person that they had ever know. I, as her child is always left with a 'blank face' wondering where is that sweetness hidden, for, for sure, I never see any of that, beyond her regular evil, conniving, lying two-faced bullshit. So you see, I am not so-called brighter than anyone else, in seeing that my mother abuses me, I spoke and I challenged. </div> <bR> <div> <B><U>Acceptance</U></B><B>: </B></div> <div> Someone asked me why I accepted my stepfather in my father home and space. Well, for one, I had loved my oldest sister dearly. She having suffered from the hands of my mother, seeing that she was by a different father. My stepfather is her father. Furthermore, I have never heard my father utter a bad word about this man, whose child, he took and raise as his own, even as my mother was pregnant with my oldest sister, when my father met and took her as his wife. I have watched my father shared his meal, his table with this man in peace and harmony. He was always kind to me, and from earlier on, 1970, I listened to him asking my mother, why is she so bent on abusing me.</div> <bR> <div> <B>West Cliffe</B></div> <div> <B> My Mother's Evil- Years of Pain :~61    </B></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <B><U>Trekking Through Nonpareil Mountain At 4:00AM </U></B></div> <div> <B><U>To Feed A Swine</U></B>:</div> <div> This morning we woke up at 4:30am.Honey and I must make our way to the bottom of Nonpareil Mountain, passed the great house and down to the dam. The huge Hog mummy bought on the advice of Uncle Peter must be fed. Heading over there six mornings in a row was a bit much. Not only do Honey I have to make the long trek through Nonpareil Mountain in these hours of the morning; we have to make it back home, and then walk [back] to school almost half the way we had come, to be at school on time at Mt. Airy. Some day, overwhelm and tired, I would sleep through my lunch hours. One a few occasions, Teacher Crooks would ask what was the matter. I could not tell him, as this would mean trouble for me. It would also mean trouble for Honey as well. Of course, another bad beating from Mummy would have follow.</div> <bR> <div> On our way back from feeding the hog, we would also move the herd of goats, at the bottom of the big hill, down by the 'barracuda mango tree.  Nevertheless, it was the long walk, Honey with the huge kerosene pan on his head, filled with hog-feed, and with me carrying the bottle-torch light, that would light our way in the dark. While the rest of Retirement District sleep, we walked the long, lonely dreary rough road. The dam was on the side of Sheffield, down from where the Sheffield Primary School sits, just so that one have an idea the distance Honey and I have to walk through the woods. </div> <bR> <div> There were so many times that Honey would get tired. I felt sorry for him, carrying the huge pan on his head. However, I could only help him carry the pan for a little while. The Kerosene pan filled with hog food was just too much for me. Looking back, I wish we had had the sense to not go and lied that we went. However, we knew the hog would be waiting and so, it would be a sin to not feed her. Furthermore, the hog was soon to give birth to a litter of pigs.  Who-ever came up with the idea of my mother buying this hog should have realized that 'we her children would have to be the ones going all the way over to Nonpareil Mountain to feed it.' Of course, this is mummy and her brothers. I could count only one of Grandmother and grandfather eleven children that actually have sense.   </div> <bR> <div> Honey and I followed this road for over a year. Sunday morning wasn't too bad, as we would stop over at the Barracuda mango tree as well as been able to  'gilant' along the way. Honey was no more than twelve or thirteen years of age and I was only ten years old. So, one can image the chore that was put upon our shoulders.  While my mother slept and with her lover, we would be over at Nonpareil mountain and back. Not once did anyone tell her that that was a cruel thing to do to her small children.  I was Honey's companion holding the light to light the way through the small path of Nonpareil Mountain and for over two plus years. </div> <bR> <div> It wasn't until Whitey had a fight with his father and Daddy took him to live with us, that I was relieved of my enormous chore of waking up at 4:00AM and walking all the way through Nonpareil Mountain, over onto the backside Sheffield to feed this hog. I guess, God send us a blessing, actually me, a blessing in a huge way. Thus, Whitey would live with us for over four years, and would assist with the chores. </div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>West Cliffe</B></div> <div> <B>Chapter Nine</B></div> <div> <B> My Mother's Evil- Years of Pain : ~62   </B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> I was still doing others chores for Honey, as we still have goats and pigs on the property next to our family home. Those, I would attend to, as Honey can be forgetful. It was in my best interest to help Honey as well, as low and behold Mummy dearest would not just wake-up Honey from his bed to in the middle of the night, she would wake-up Doreen and myself. There all three of us would have to listen to her verbal abuse of belittling words, and threat. Many a night, we would huddled next to the tank, and watched the sun rise. We were too afraid to go back into the house and or mummy dearest had ordered us to not come back in the house. </div> <bR> <div> During the day, our family appears normal, and with many children envying us for living in 'that big house of luxury.' If only they know, as all I could say at times. However, most thinks that I was 'just saying that' so that they feel more comfortable around us. After all, my parents were considered rich' back then. We have the big house with four and one half bed-room, a huge over twenty-five feet of living room space, a bathroom on the house, and with all the luxury to include having 'a generator' that light s up the place at night. Back then, there was no electricity in all of the Hills, Negril City has some electricity, however, places like Red Ground and most of West End have no electricity.  Our Cousin William Hogg and Daddy were the only two with a generator.     </div> <bR> <div> After over five years of feeding this hog, Uncle Peter came one day and told Mummy that the hog died. However, Mummy took over a week to tell us that the hog died. The way this hog was fed, was different, so food was taken, to feed to hog, even while it was dead. When you get there with the feed, you have to first make sure that this huge swine was no where-in site. Not only that, you see; upon approaching the dam area, you have to be very quiet and trek with silence and caution. For if at any time the swine smells you going, it is death for you. There are no trees to climb, to get out of its way. So, the way we fed the hog was to get there while it was still rooting in the mud down next to the far end of the dam where it slept. Then we would quickly empty the kerosene pan into a huge trough and run. As soon as the hog smells the food and or got wind that we were there, we would have run a good two chain away. Therefore, it wasn't just a chore getting up and getting over there, it was also a survival chore upon getting away alive. </div> <bR> <div> It was October and we would get more than the regular share of rainfall. The dam would break, and the hog and her last litter drown. I must point out for over the six or more years that Mummy purchase this breeding swine, not once did we ever reap the reward of having a little to sell. The baby pigs were either stolen, died and or drown. Perhaps Uncle Peter and his family took the rewards. Honey and I would never know.  As I was clearing off the land my father gave to me, up at Retirement, next to my birth-place, I was reminded by Whitey of him saying,  'Noamie, you have worked for your share of land; you did.'</div> <div> I was moved to tears as Whitey reminded me how the work I have done growing up. I was more moved as he would outline to my husband, the days long forgotten, times that my brain would moved to block out, for it was a time when the abuse from my mother was too much for me to bear. Thus Whitey's words: " If anyone deserves this land; its you," tore to the very core of my heart. Thank God, I have witnesses.</div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>West Cliffe</B></div> <div> <B>Chapter Nine        </B></div> <div> <B>My Father's Bride- The Unfaithful Wife</B>: <B>My Mother's Evil: 62</B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B><U>Finally Speaking Out:</U></B> </div> <div> Then how is that, when, even as young as I was, that upon speaking out, that I would be told to shut up. How many dare to cover-up for my mother's evil, leaving room for stone to be thrown at a child who had nothing to do with what she chooses to do with her life beyond the norms of what society holds her to.<FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#6666CC" FACE="Arial" > </FONT></div> <bR> <div> Yet, it is this same woman, my mother, who when in 1972-73, had to have a hysterectomy, that I was the only one there for her, to nurse her and back to health. I slept by her side. I wash her delicate intimate clothes with my hands. I saw her nakedness, having to hold her up to bathe her, all by myself, a twelve year old child. She who was helpless for weeks, and to the point of death. I cooked her special meals, before going off to school in the mornings. I cleaned her healing cut, (wound), even before heading off to school for 8.00AM. I watched her as she though that she would die from an infection. </div> <bR> <div> I was up through the night with her, with her constant pain. It was I, I alone. I could have hated her. However, I, been me, is clean in spirit, and do not harbor hate. I had nursed her back to life without even a `thank you ` coming from her lips. Why, she who, even a week prior was determine to, at any cost to have me killed, even to the point of telling me that I am the hardest person to die, as she tried, and it didn't work. <FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#6666CC" FACE="Arial" > </FONT>Talk about a sick bitch that everyone seek to cover-up for. Talk about the thankless mother, an evil that her sisters and brothers would go to any length to cover and helped in hiding. </div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B><U>Going home: 1990</U></B> </div> <div> The night at Derris's Wedding Reception, Jimmy had insisted that he would be bringing me home, as he wanted to talk to me. The talk was not just about him, but about his son. Or perhaps, he had  had something else in mind. He claimed at first that he was there to beg me to not leave his son. Like a drunken fool, he would rambled on and on, calling his daughter Janet a whore, and that what he had confined in Janet about me, that Janet had gone back and tell to Ricky. I had recalled Jimmy coming down to the Gold Nugget beach to sit and have breakfast, only I didn't realize at the time, that his presence was  for me to have breakfast with him, and right there in the presence of his son Ricky. Even while Gail and Lollie were both busy occupying the Tree-House Resort as their home. </div> <bR> <div> However, in driving me home, I would see the true demon, some of the true Jimmy Jackson.<FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#6666CC" FACE="Arial" > </FONT>I got home, scared, as he, he Jimmy was as drunk as can be, or that's was my observation of his movements, seeing I never saw him took another drink after 8:00PM., even while he and his son 'sized-up' each other from a distance. For I was shocked to hear those words coming out of his mouth, as well as telling me that his son will go crazy again, if I leave him. Now, here is where a therapist would have a field-day, as in my gentle mind, this is not feasible for me to grasp, this mental madness that had also come over this man in him uttering those words to me. </div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>West Cliffe  -  </B></div> <div> <B>Chapter Nine       </B></div> <div> <B>Connecting The Past- Connecting The Bloodline                                                                                                   My Mother's Evil: 63</B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> This was too much, to even consider. This is the same man who earlier in the evening was complaining to me that I having broke his heart, that Ricky and I didn't belong together for his own selfish mental sake; it is this man that at 10:00PM is telling me that to leave his son, is for his beloved son to go crazy. Later, he would blame me for whatever befalls his son. How did I end up with all that? What a joke! What a scandal, except for the facts that its not a plastic bag, but indeed reality.</div> <bR> <div> <B><U>Connecting the Bloodline</U></B><FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#6666CC" FACE="Baskerville Old Face" >:  </FONT></div> <div> The last Will and Testimony of the Clan's-line of my mother and Jimmy Jackson: The Gordon's and The Daley's. </div> <bR> <div> <B>Tillbury 1964:</B>  I was only  going on four years of age and living with Grandmother and Grandfather down in Tillbury. As the evening shadows drew, fear would sits over the house, and the yard.  By the first glimpse of dust, the little house I slept in with my grandparent would begin to feel the wrath of Uncle Kat. Uncle Kat was dead and gone. However, his anger would rage, and upon his nephew Norman.  From dust until dawn, uncle Kat would stone the house. Like a strong wind, he would come and sit in the alabaster tree across from the house, and rain stones upon Grandfathers house. Uncle Kat had sold Grandfather some Mahogany boards, only to turn around and steal them back from grandfather. Unbeknown to him, Uncle Kat, Markie had marked the boards, the wide planks, before store-ing them underneath his house. When they went missing Markie went looking for them. There they were up underneath his house over Old Yard. </div> <bR> <div> Thinking nothing of it, Mass Norman, Markie who was then transitioning from Old Yard, to the new land, he took his boards back. Uncle Kat, Irene Bell's father would have harbored a deep rage, an anger, so deep that years after his death, he took to stoning his own nephew, my grandfather's house, as if he was still a living human-being. For almost a year, no one sleep peacefully in the house. Each even' as dust drew, Markie would make sure that he was already drunk.  It wasn't until one evening when hall transport has broken down, and would not get into Tillbury until after dust has fallen, that all the people on the bus would have witness what was too imaginable to describe. The buss would have to sit still by Grandfather's gate, until the first interval of stone finish landing on the house.  Hall's Transport enroute to Negril to finish dropping off its passengers, would come to witness the power of the departed. It was no laughing matters.</div> <bR> <div> Haddan Williams, was one of the people sitting on the bus. I recalled him shaking his </div> <div> head in disbelief.  Haddan promised my grandfather that he would seek help for him; in putting this evil spirit to rest. A few days later Haddan returned with a man. I listened to them talking with Grandfather.  All the animals must be removed from the yard, and taken to a place of safety. Come dust, no one was to be seen outside the yard, or the house. The man called "The Butcher" was coming to do the job. </div> <bR> <div> Uncle Kat's spirit was caught in a 'seven-up, the green bottle' and taken to sea. Thus Tillbury was rid of the Indian man's evil. Tillbury would have peace, at least for awhile.</div> <bR> <div>  At least until his daughter Irene took his place, living on the land. Nevertheless, I still remember one evening when Grandfather couldn't take it anymore that he turns to Grandmother Emma and said: "Emma, Emma, take the pickney-them out the yard; get them out of here, 'cause is gone I gone; who dead; dead; who live- live; 'cuase is gone I gone to rass." </div> <bR> <div> Again: Uncle Haddan who I swore was my husband came to our rescue, my rescue. I was a baby with a bright sense of spirit and so, Haddan would always bring me sweet-nessbury and mangoes. I have to dance for him. I was  a little dancer and he would reward me. </div> <bR> <bR> <div> I would come to learn of Orange Hill's bloodline and the dark secrets of  who came and went. I would later asked Grandmother as to how  she came to  help,  in raising Erro, called Princess, after the night her mother died, actually killed by 'a spirit they were trapping,'  leaving the two-weeks old baby.</div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B><U>Tillbury - December 1998:</U></B><B> </B></div> <div> It is with these thoughts in mind, that within the early hours of the morning, when this man would come knocking at my door, that all thoughts of what is to come, and what is to be, may have cause my mind to have for a long time, freed me of the mental torture, the burden that I was no longer wishing to carry. It was time for me to walk on, and keep on walking. I having come to a place in God, and in "my secret place of refuge" that I had to move on, keep walking on, without looking back. I had unshackled myself from the burden of  Jimmy Jackson and  later his son: Ricky Jackson. Now the other type of fight would begin.  So hold on to your seat, and buckle up for the wind had started to blow in a different direction.  I will begin here by taking you back: The World of Jamaicans Witchcraft-Obeah.. How I overcome. How I Learn the Deep Power of God in Me. </div> <bR> <div> So, you see, there's much to laugh at, as there is much to cry about.</div> <div> <B>............</B><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#6666CC" FACE="Arial" > </FONT></div> <bR> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <B><IMG SRC="3be7e7b0.jpg" border=0 width="126" height="123" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></B></div> <div> <I>Sow to yourselves in righteousness, reap in mercy; break up your fallow ground: for it is time to seek the Lord, till He come and rain righteousness upon you._Hosea 10:12</I></div> <bR> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>