Herstory

I trudged the rocky paths to the village. The sea leapt into the night, sirens blared in the distance, with shouts from men echoed through the rear. My knees begged for a respite, yet my brain screamed ‘We’re close,’ I heeded the voice. The pathway inched me higher and steeper up the hill. Even in the dark, I beheld the infamous colourful art that adorned the valleys of the Caribbean Island. Cars stacked upon each other in the next valley I turned to, tripping over the stairs with a light squeal. Once I found my balance, I took the stairs in twos. I checked the crumpled paper resting in my hand, and when I was assured to have found the right house, I knocked on the door three times. Shuffling of feet creaked the wooden floors. I inched an ear closer, curious as to who it was to have been behind the door. I was kissed with whooshed air. With an inward gasp, I drew my head back and faced her. Her eyes drifted up and down on my figure, as had my eyes slid across her form. 

Elvita’s skin was golden brown, clean of wrinkles and adorned with spots becomen from age. Her hair was coloured almost black, glimmering with streaks of grey. She was a frail woman but could support her body without the aid of a cane or a chair. She was as endearing as many whispered to me on the beautiful Island of Puerto Rico. Since I stepped into Yauco, whether it was to perch on a bench before a beach, buy their aromatic roasted coffee beans or browse through their supermarkets, had many locals murmured of a woman who was their healer, the only indigenous woman alive in their town. Some even held pictures in their shops for admiration, especially men, for they weren’t permitted inside her home. They would recite to me stories of their history, of how genocide and colonialism severed their culture from its people. It seemed that no matter where I stood in the world, in black, brown, or white countries, had we shared the same stories. There was something whole in knowing that those tragedies and stories connected us all. I deduced her rather keenly, and she merely smiled. Her expression was warm and knowing, as though she knew how her people perceived her in her own town.

“Hola, me llamo Neith. Estoy aquí para verte.” I prayed that I had pronounced the words correctly, as in the manner I had practised them on my way down for a visit.

“I see. I see you.” Her voice soft as the salt water of the ocean.

I continued to speak in my gibberish form of Spanish I rehearsed, the English seeping in through my fumbled efforts. “I heard estas healer. Que esta’s door open always.” My ears pounding with anxiety.

Her smile broadened some more. “Si. I speak English also,” murmured she. Her voice was tender, ever so tender, I had trouble hearing her. “I only allow mujer… women in my home. La energía de los hombres es peligrosa. Men. Energy. Dangerous.”

“Si. Si,” had I responded in agreement. 

She opened her door wider, motioned with her hand, muttering what I thought to be ‘come in’. She gazed at me with profoundness, her eyes on mine. Her lips, which were shaped in a frown, sloped up, though. She approached me and said, “Sleep. We, tomorrow, talk.” Her hand reached over my head for a comforting touch, just as her eyes glossed with shine. She unwrapped the blanket which lay on the side of her couch and brought it to her chest. She reached me once more, kissing the top of my forehead. My eyes bowed as my body transpired into reprieve. It was a peculiar interaction; one I hadn’t understood. However, it eased me all the same. She urged me to lie on the couch, placing the blankets over my body, clinching beneath my chin. She stroked my head once more and smiled. “Nos vemos hija de la mañana. See you in the morning,” hushed she. She left the lamp dimmed and retreated upstairs. I was left in solitude. Something peaceful poured through me as my body slipped into a slumber. For the first time in a long time, had I felt safe in my own space. 

Roasted coffee beans tickled my nose. Upon the smell, had I blinked to awaken, only to seal my eyes when pinched by the vivid bright lights of the sunshine. A groan escaped from my chapped lips. My body yearned for a stretch, and upon opening my eyes once more, they hadn’t stung. I shifted to the side to be exposed to an open-plan garden and artefacts, which I deemed to be a lovely portrayal of divine femininity. She had dotted frames of women adorned in flowers and petals whilst naked. Her footsteps padded softly, and she appeared from the arch with a tray cradled between her hands. Elvita laid the tray on top of the table and handed me a cup of steaming hot coffee. “Aquí está tu café con leche,” she whispered. She folded the blanket when I took it off my frame, straightening my form in a sitting position. She talked low with a morning husk. Her pitch, since she had spoken from our first interaction, had failed to falter to raise or change. She made me a revoltillo, scrambled eggs with shrimp, peppers, and garnished with cilantro. Elvita showed me around her home, instructing me on how to use her bathtub. “I may take a bath. Would that be ok?”

“Si. Si. Wait for you downstairs,” returned she.

With a departed grin, she closed the door. I locked the door and undressed myself while the water ran in a stream as I brushed my teeth. I twisted the tap shut once it had reached the desired fill. I gasped as I descended and welcomed the warmth. In solitude, my mind ran wild. They reached the forbidden. The act I attempted to commit. The eyes that saw lashed with the wails, the heavy breathings, and the ferocious, merciless ocean that hadn’t let up. The body sank into the darkness, wanting to flee the very malevolence. My body convulsed and thundered upon the images capturing my mind. I must have screamed for Elvita to have appeared out of nowhere. Indeed, was I grateful for her presence. The string of cold blitzed my skin, making me shudder, and she whispered words of consolation while she wrapped a towel around me. 

“You’re safe. You’re ok.” She guided me to an empty bedroom with a single bed, desk and drawers.

Before she went, had I asked the question nagging my brain since she appeared. “How did you come into the bathroom. The door was locked.” 

Elvita’s face transformed into sheepishness. “Many women seek help. I have a lock opened outside the door just in case anything happens.” She spoke with absolute difficulty when she said the sentence in English. I pondered if there was a mystical element she carried as a healer, but I must’ve been tripping. She left me alone when I hadn’t a word to utter in return. I sat on the bed, reflecting on the misfortunes of my life. I had no family nor friends. Fuck a man, so fuck a lover.

Elvita sat idly on the couch, her head towards the one window in her living room. They shifted when my foot left the last step. “Hola,” she greeted with a perk of her head.

“Hola. Tia Elvita.”

Her smile shone brighter, gladdened to have called her with endearment. Tia Elvita headed for the front door, looking back at me. She opened the door and waited for me to close it to seal behind us. I followed her wordlessly, needless to say, where we were going. Though I found that to be fine. The Island radiated during the day. Mountains oversaw the town. It appeared giant and richly green. It was so green with trees filled with health that it seemed to be an ethereal nirvana. The curves and slopes were shaped with precision and suppleness, all the same. “La creación de Dios”, Tía Elvita murmured. 

“Huh?” Said I. 

“God create,” she nudged her chin towards the mountain. I understood what she meant, for we shared the same sentiment in my religion. A sheepish laugh brushed out of my mouth upon catching Tia Elvita analysing me. 

I responded, “Si. Si.” 

Wherever she was leading us, had taken us higher and higher up the paths, with the hills steeper and steeper. My knees angled outwards the more we hiked up the mountains. People of Puerto Rico stopped us many times to greet Tia Elvita, their eyes misting with adoration through their encounters. Men greeted her with delight. Women greeted her with embraces. Certainly, there was magic in Puerto Rico. The people were wholesome folks, the food was delicious, and the streets danced with mirth.

“You like the mountains?” Asked Tia Elvita as we trekked the paths. I, with no aid. She with the hiking stick. 

“Si.”

“Hay otras mujeres que conocerás. More women to meet.”

Tia Elvita remained composed just as I was huffing and puffing with gasping pants, wishing I had made more of an effort to exercise. “Prepárate, hija. Going up the mountain.”

“Bien,” I squeaked, catching my breath. She sat on a big rock, indicating with her hand that I should sit. 

“Agua,” whispered she, pointing at her water. I unzipped my backpack, retrieved the water bottle, and gulped water in heaps. 

It had taken us half an hour to reach the top of a small mountain peak. I detected fumes of smoke swirling in the air with cracks of fire sounding over wood. Panic set inside my body, only to be relieved upon perceiving a fire pit. My knees strained, pronounced upon hitching deeper up the peak. There was a crowd of women dressed in white huddling in a circle around the fire pit. “Hola, mi familia. ¿Cómo estás?” Tia Elvita sang in her whispery voice.

A woman with long black braids and dark skin rose from her seated position, opening her arms wide for Tia Elvita to step into them. “Estoy bien, mamá. Te esperábamos.”

“Extranaba a tu hija. Missed you,” A smile perked upon the realisation that she translated it for me. I stood behind Tia Elvita, rather nervously, and the dark-skinned woman’s eyes landed on me. With perplexity had she viewed me. The woman released Tia Elvita and asked her sharply, “Quien es ella?”

“Ah, hija. Elles es Neith. She is Neith,” Answered Tia Elvita. The woman greeted Gloria with a rolled ‘r’ and lurched towards me, wrapping her arms around me, causing me to jump. 

“No Espanol,” said Tia Elvita. 

Gloria with a rolled ‘r’ showed me the rest of the women who were studying me with trifling judgment in their eyes. They muttered words that were unrecognisable, and Tia Elvita snapped back. I detected her tone to be reprimanding, and it seemed she was the ‘leader’ of the group since her energy shifted upon meeting them. Every woman said hello to me, offering me a seat near them. Tia Elvita nudged for me to sit beside her, translating to me what the women said. “Ran away from husband, trying to get her children back from him.” 

I ought to learn Spanish, thought I. “How do you say - ‘sorry for your hardships’,” I whispered to Tia Elvita. 

She patted the top of my head affectionately. “Lo siento por tus dificultades.”

I imitated Tia Elvita’s words and attempted the pronunciation, and the women lagged heartily.

“Gracias,” uttered she, holding out her hand to put over my hand. 

With the fire cracking like a soft, incessant whisper of twigs and logs turning to glowing embers, Tia Elvita retold the experiences of the women and what they went through the past week. The women within this circle were either widowers, runaways, or lone souls, for these women were haunted by men so deeply, they were terrified to be associated with them. They prayed to their God and I to mine, with my head wrapped in a thin fabric concealing my hair. The air sowed cleanliness, the wind kissed my skin, and the sounds of Earth deeply alleviated the perennial pain. Once I finished, we gathered together around the crackling pit and professed words of gratitude. “I’m grateful for the women. I thank myself for choosing me. I’m thankful for safety. I’m thankful for this Island, and it’s people. I thank God for giving me a reason. I thank myself for choosing light,” said I upon my turn.

“Hermoso,” a woman, Mariana, complimented.

“Beautiful,” Tia Elvita translated.

“Gracias.” Suddenly, tears appeared from the corners of my eyes, a continual stream of rivers. The flicks of my finger remained pointless. “This life has been hard for me, also,” I croaked, giving reason to my emotions.

“A visa ha sido difícil para ella.” 

There were whispered consolations from the women, many gathering around me with kisses and hugs. “Estás bien ahora,” Gloria affirmed unwaveringly, and Tia Elvita nodded along. For the first time in three years, had I truly believed to be reprieved from tragedy.

by Kalina

Beverley: 10 things I bet you didn’t know about me.

1. I have been working as a receptionist in the probation service for twenty-two years. I have worked at offices all over London and I even did a spell at headquarters. I was gobsmacked when the chief executive sent me an email informing me of my 20-year service. My award of £250 went towards purchasing another designer handbag. Every manager wherever I have been based, has tried to convince me to train as a probation officer, but have you seen the state of some of them? I mean they work so hard, working way over their contracted hours, taking work home or coming into the office at the weekends. And all of those home office targets they have to meet and all. I don’t know how they do it. I wouldn’t last 5 minutes. Nope, that’s not for me, but I get the point; the length of time I have been around, I could have been chief exec myself by now. Patti, on the other hand makes it all look so easy. When she joined the office, in her power suits and high heels, one of the first things she did, was bring in a dress code. No ripped up jeans or tee shirts with slogans on them. Of course, some of them tried to threaten the managers with the union, but Patti, Steve and Jerome, stood their ground and won the staff group over. Patti and I bonded; over a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes I wore to work. Thereafter, she was always complimenting me on my clothes, hair or make-up saying “I see you, Queen!”

   
   2. Speaking of royalty, I was awarded an OBE by Princess Anne at Buckingham Palace for my contributions to the probation service. The announcement of my Queen’s Award put a lot of noses out of joint at the time. Well, I hardly nominated myself, Patti was involved in nominating me for that award via the Association of Black Probation Officers. The event at Buckingham Palace was an elaborate affair. All that pomp and ceremony. I took my former social worker with me. Miss Marilyn and I loved every minute of it. So, I have letters OBE after my name. The fellas are well impressed when I’m out on the pull.

   
   3. I saved a service user's life last year. It was a busy day at Camden office, when Simone Thomas came to the window to request the key to the loo. I was happy to oblige. Simone was a regular to the office over the years, she was a prolific shoplifter with a horrid class A drug habit. There was something sad about the way she said “Thank you and thank you for everything.” which I thought was odd at the time. When I didn’t see her come back out after 5 minutes, I told Leah, the other receptionist, I was going to check on her. The first two cubicles were vacant but the last cubicle door was closed. There was no answer when I called out and banged on the loo door. I rushed into the adjacent cubicle, jumped up on to the toilet lid and peeped over the stall. Simone was slumped over leaning against the door with a cloth tied around her neck. I don’t know how I managed to scale the partition between us, but I landed in the tight space, screaming my lungs out, crying for help. I removed the scarf from the cistern and held Simone's limp body against me, so a frantic Leah could push the door open. The ambulance crew reckoned if we had left it a few moments longer, we would have lost her.

   
   4. I have type 1 diabetes. I was diagnosed at 7 years old.

   
   5. I have no family; they were all killed in a car accident. But that is another story for another time.

   
   6. I own several properties in East London and in Essex. I inherited a lot of money and I would have pissed it up the wall had it not been for my social worker. Miss Marilyn helped me to invest most of the money when I left care. She helped me buy my first flat; a rundown 2-bedroom flat in Ilford. Outside of work she was into buying and renovating properties, her motto was, “You buy the worst house on the road and you turn it into the best house on the street.” By the time I was 20 years old, I had another two properties under my Gucci belt. I now live in a four bed detached house in Debden, Essex. I own the land behind my property too. There was a rumour years ago, that some property developers were going to purchase it, evict the horse riding school and build low rise apartments, in my backyard. Well, I wasn’t having a bar of that, so I purchased the land. The owner of the paddocks was allowed to stay at a reduced rate, which then enabled them to offer more classes to children with disabilities. It was a win-win situation all around.

   
   7. I am 42 years old, but I lie and tell my love interests that I am 39. If I am attracted to a man and I feel a connection, I am open to jumping from first to fourth base in a heartbeat. This has led me into serious arguments with both Patti and my nemesis Antoinette when out on the lash, but I don’t care. Antoinette once said I am like the United Colours of f-ing Benetton, but as I said I don’t care. Yes, I have had more sexual partners than they have had hot dinners, but I’m over the double standards. Without a shadow of a doubt, if I was a man, I would be described as a f-ing legend and not a hoe.

   
   8. My best features are my breasts. The twins get me a lot of attention when I’m on a night out. I had breast reduction surgery last year, reducing my breasts from a double H cup to a double D cup, but I swear down they have grown back during this pregnancy.

   
   9. I have never been to the Caribbean before. My folks were Guyanese, but they never got the chance to take me as a child. I prefer to travel East. I have travelled all over Asia, so imagine my delight when Patti invited me to her wedding in Jamaica. I literally ran to Newmont travel to book my ticket and hotel before the office manager Toyin changed her mind. On my first night at The Cliff Hotel in Negril, after Patti’s hen party fizzled out, I got incredibly drunk. I knocked back one too many ‘Bob Marley’ cocktails at the bar and I met and slept with Carlos Morgan. I have to admit I don’t remember much about our interlude and I was highly embarrassed when I found out the next day, that he was the groom’s younger brother and not Britain’s answer to Buju Banton. Antoinette and Patti's mother Veronica, tried to shame me (not for the first time they team tagged me; calling me out for being slack) and for a hot minute I was caught in my feelings about it as I’m not one to poop on my own doorstep. I only swapped mobile numbers with Carlos knowing that I would never see him again, then to my horror I was going to see him and his wife, Charmaine at Patti and Marcus' wedding. Shame guy! But I styled it out, pretending to be cool with it, until she bowls off the dancefloor, heading in my direction. I almost pissed myself; I’m a lover not a fighter. The most humiliating thing to happen in my life was when that sket, chucked a glass of red wine all over the front of my white dress. Antoinette came running over to help me or so I thought, only to see her running behind that fat cow. I’ll never forgive Antoinette for that. She was supposed to be on my side.

   
   10. I sleep with married men. That is their wives problem not mine. But right now, Carlos Sweetboy Morgan is my biggest problem.

   
   The big day is finally here, Friday 25th December 2015. I didn’t get out of bed until 9ish, determined to have a lie in as I knew it was going to be a long boring day. I tested my blood sugar. Thankfully, the reading 5.5 was spot on this morning. My blood sugar levels had been all over the place in recent weeks due to the pregnancy; another risk factor my midwife Janice mentioned during my very first antenatal appointment. Being over 40 years old automatically gave them cause for concerns and being an insulin dependent diabetic was also another issue. I was going to have to be very careful over the next 7 months if I wanted a successful outcome. I made a mental note to replace the glucose tablets in the bedside table in the event of my blood sugar levels dropping too low during the night and risk having a hypo. I sat intentionally on the edge of my bed and wriggled my toes into the shag pile carpet. I straightened my back trying to centre myself. I breathed through my nose for 5 seconds, holding my breath for a further 5 seconds and controlling my breathing, exhaling for 5 seconds more. I repeat my breathing exercises several times, imagining I am breathing in positivity and breathing out negativity. Today, like every Christmas day, I knew it was going to be difficult without my immediate family. Today I was going to be kind to myself. Next on my list was a swim in the basement. The pool was a major selling point when I decided to purchase the house, even though I couldn’t swim. After hundreds of private swimming lessons, I was a competent swimmer and I swam every day, completing at least 30 laps of the pool before work. After my swim was over, I went back upstairs and I took a long warm bath. I noticed small changes in my body already. My ankles were slightly swollen and my tummy was protruding ever so slightly. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to conceal my pregnancy at work for much longer. Leah was already giving me side eyes every time I asked her to cover reception for me whilst I raced to the loo. When I get to 15 weeks, I was going to tell Toyin I was expecting, because my back was killing me sitting in an ordinary office chair. I imagined my colleagues speculating who was the father of my child. But none of them would dare ask me my business. I patted myself dry with a large Egyptian cotton towel sitting back on my bed. I grab a bottle of bio-oil and lather up my skin, trying to prevent stretch marks appearing. I looked out of my bedroom window, past my garden into the stables. Everything was covered in a light dusting of snow. The sun was out and warming things up nicely, it was going to be a mild day for December. Clare was already on site with her small army of volunteers, mucking out the stables and feeding the horses. Clare was always the first person at the paddock and the last one to leave and she would repeat the chores in the evenings as well. She was dedicated to the riding school. But she has no idea I was her landlady and I had no plans to tell her either. I checked my phone for the first time today. My previous exes from yesteryear sent me Christmas Day text messages and e-cards. Thankfully, I only heard from these blokes once a year. It was Patti who started dragging me out to dinner Christmas week to have a meal together. She always extended an invitation to spend Christmas day with her at her mother’s but I always refused. If I cannot spend Christmas day with my mum, I’m not spending it with anybody else’s mother. I wrapped myself in my dressing gown and headed back downstairs. I was famished.

   
   If you saw the state of ‘The Manor' when I first viewed the property you would understand why the kitchen is my favourite room in the house now. We ripped out everything; lighting, cupboards and appliances that were last used in the ark. When I said ‘we' I meant my builder Dennis. He and his workman were the only men allowed in my home and the only men to make it into my bedroom were plasterers and decorators. It was one of my many rules when I first moved in. My home was going to be my space of tranquillity; my happy space. I broke my own rule once for a night of passion on the couch in the living room with a gentleman friend, who came indoors after a date, for a proverbial ‘coffee', but he never stayed the night. No man was going to see me with no make-up on and sporting my multi-coloured head-tie. My state-of-the-art kitchen was all white, immaculately clean, with a small laundry room to the side, housing the washing machine and dryer. I run my hand over the cool marble breakfast bar. It had cost a fortune to install and it was a bugger to keep clean, but so worth it. I took out everything I need out of the pantry and my huge American style fridge to make myself smashed avocado with crispy bacon on ciabatta toast. I really fancied eggs benedict with smoke salmon with a homemade hollandaise sauce. However, every baby book I bought advised me to avoid eating fish and runny eggs. I ate slowly at the breakfast bar, savouring the heat from the chilli flakes and saltiness of the bacon lardons dancing on my tongue. I washed everything down with a cup of decaf coffee, wishing it was a glass of champagne or Prosecco. I retrieved a pen from the fridge and injected 15 units of insulin into my thigh. I checked my phone which had been beeping continuously with notifications in my dressing gown pocket. I guessed they were more Christmas notifications. I kissed my back teeth. I bet all the ‘woke' black folk on WhatsApp were itching for Boxing Day so they could flood my phone with Kwanzaa greetings. I just wanted it to be all over, so I could shop online and pick up a few bargains in the sales. Roll on January 2016. It was going to be my year. I was planning to tell Carlos that I am pregnant and I would leave the ball in his court. My phone began to ring, jumping me out of my thoughts. Well, would you Adam and Eve it? My heart skipped a beat...it was Carlos.

by Pamela R. Haynes FRSA