just when the evening was supposed to be wining down, i found myself giving therapy and counseling support in the back of a flat bed with an old white woman who i never knew existed in my neighborhood and a young red chick suffering deeply from ptsd and surviving emotional abuse from her mother. to hear the talk./ about her digging a grave for her mother. she was wild. cause she was speaking her heart the whole time but not hearing herself, denying her truths and skewing her experiences or the feelings from those experiences. and w e were all hearing it but not her. and in the support she felt we were attacking her. she felt we were telling her to have a relationship with her mother and NO ONE of three of us ever said such a thing. imagine. bizzaro. but the white lady ended up asking me "where you come out from?" and the way she speaks, slow and soft and petite. and kept holding my hands speaking of soul connections. she was and is clearly a woman aged, suffering some mental age related incapacity: short term memory loss, and telling us how her children lock her up and in, and refuse to let her walk, so despite there being cars, she asked to walk home. and then we heard how police rush her son and her and took him to jail seeing him white woman. i could not comprehend
and when one does not drink much alcohol, one can stay up real late.
it was like 6am when i went to sleep after reaching home at 4am.
where to start.
i learned that two young men seemed to have gotten killed at the exact same time and hour on independence morning, one in barataria, one in belmont and my friend from zimbabwe was disturbed at the very hour these events were occurring, him feeling it so strongly, he got up and walked outside to try and ward the feeling away. one man got nineteen bullets, the other thirteen. and he too saying, "there are no accidents"
our conversation was only interrupted by the son of a wretched bar operator who himself was so jubilant, effervescent, passionate and excited about some graphic design course and walking around with his sketchpad and talking about his lecturer, his art, and the philosophy behind his design. He was quite infectious and engaging if not a bit socially off rendered. for he came to sit at our table as if we both werent present and involved in a deep discussion, he just plop and started talking his life and agenda. but he was so cute and happy I could not help but not be upset for the lost closure of a very interesting exchange with my zimbabwean
something odd too, an elder man in my neighborhood has taken to buying me beers in multiples, leaving it at the bar, and last evening, he called me to him on my way and gave me $20, "to buy my beers" all because he saw someone offer me a beer once by calling out to me: "Rasta you want a beer?" He felt it disrespectful. I had to explain to him when you out on the street, at the bar, is only beasts and demons and one must be prepared for such behavior..
not knowing the evening would proceed further along the track of interesting
pissing off a kenyan doctor who apparently felt as though no mere woman should be able to tell him anything about his field after he boldin myface lied when I asked him if he was in medicine so I would have some modicum to file the shit he wanted to tell me. when i would not allow the conversation to proceed after he says to me "i am in the field I know" i was like zrrrrooooppppK...wait. did i not just ask you if you were in the field and you said no? and i asked it like five times. to which he grabs his beer and storms off. he got called out looking stupid and could not take it, quite apart from spouting bs about women and infants dying because there are things outside of people;s control. as I write, I realize how dangerously misogynistic might be the establishment and its operators and administrators to people and really, the least of these: women and children/ that has to be a big part of what we are seeing./ meanwhile, i and the other doctor fully agree that was some serious malpractice that killed kelane on the birthing table. she was not being monitored for the first thing and we are not sure if the tubes punctured her lungs or esophagus or what in administration. then i was shocked to hear how common it is for the establishment to put women completely under for a c=section. i have some research to do but the point that moussa also tried to make to me is that the medical system here leans toward the medical system with electronics, machinery, tests, mris and scans and cant read the reports. which is very different from what i know and see. is only rich people who pay for those services. regular people are usually not so afforded in care. then he said that there is no supervision in hospitals, all the seniors are out making money in private practice and the juniors are left on their own. then both medmen spoke that the predominant people in medicine are indians and they are in it for status and money not for caring for people or their health. it was amazing to me to hear it cause all and all, seemed like ti was all validation of what courtney bartholomew tried to tell the country eleven and twelve years ago/ it was also said that these doctors receive no practical training whatsoever. and that was not the language used but that stunned the shit out of me if it is true.. NO practicals? just books? we not making doctors then. now i know now what has and is happening. . a scary prospect. and who is going to launch an investigation into medicine in trinidad as a practice of health and living on humans?
then i met three boating yachtmen from st vincent who work on petit vincent in some exclusive resort they were telling me, down here for maintenance:
ephraim and glenroy, and their host, cj
just when the evening was supposed to be wining down, i found myself giving therapy and counseling support in the back of a flat bed with an old white woman who i never knew existed in my neighborhood and a young red chick suffering deeply from ptsd and surviving emotional abuse from her mother. to hear the talk./ about her digging a grave for her mother. she was wild. cause she was speaking her heart the whole time but not hearing herself, denying her truths and skewing her experiences or the feelings from those experiences. and w e were all hearing it but not her. and in the support she felt we were attacking her. she felt we were telling her to have a relationship with her mother and NO ONE of three of us ever said such a thing. imagine. bizzaro. but the white lady ended up asking me "where you come out from?" "how do you know what you know?:": telling the younger girl to listen to me and then telling me i have a good spirit and soul. and the way she speaks, slow and soft. and kept holding my hands speaking of soul connections. she was and is clearly a woman aged, suffering some mental age related incapacity: short term memory loss, and telling us how her children lock her up and in, and refuse to let her walk, so despite there being cars, she asked to walk home. and then we heard how police rush her son and her and took him to jail seeing him white woman. i could not comprehend/ but she was a sweet person
and still an hour before i get home, where i had to act like a mad woman in the gaza to ward off the crazy trying to take my drink of gingerale in a cup
anthropological chronicles in ethnographic identities and stories
No comments:
Post a Comment