Despite having done so much for her boy children whom she loves dearly, my mother still questions where she went wrong in the upbringing of two of them, which could have led to the unacceptable paths which they have chosen.
She was sitting as she usually did, whenever the chance permitted on Saturday mornings; hunched over the large galvanised wash pan filled with white linen, most of which was our school shirts, blouses and socks. She loved to wash whites, and to this day that trait has remained with her. She cries out from time to time from the excruciating pain which would rush through her hands, and into her fingers. A pain probably resulting from the length of time she spends not only rubbing white clothing after lathering them with blue soap, but the long hours washing for her large family. Perhaps it could have been from years before when she would use the cutlass to chop cane, then have to pile and load them to be sent off to the factory. Maybe the farming and reaping of potatoes and yams, where she would have to pull the weed or doubled grass from between their sprouts.Was it the washing, ironing and cleaning of many homes in order to gain a living in order to pay my exorbitant school fees? I hated these days for being the older of only two daughters, I always had to be part of this predicament. Some Saturdays before sunrise, and until late evening after the sun had set, we would be labouring over laundry. Although poor, she ensured that her children were always sent to school spick and span. A clean pants and shirt, or blouse and tunic or skirt everyday. And so, I was glad whenever I could get away any Saturday to engage in one school related sporting event or the other, or tell a little white lie about an assignment to go to the library; sometimes only to sit and read one of my favourite Enid Blytons. Whenever I attempted to do this I was successful.