Requiem for a street lady

THE EDITOR, Sir:

SINCE THE attack on the World Trade Centre, I have been haunted by the fact that we will never know how many persons have perished. Of the suspected victims one person stands out in my mind. Like the Twin Towers, she was a landmark on the section of Church Street that runs from in front of the towers to Chambers Street. Tall, strong, with multi-coloured rollers in her hair, and a push cart filled with cans and assorted paraphernalia from her life on the street, she roamed the neighbourhood by day and rested in the subway station by night.

She must have been beautiful in her youth, but now, her chest stuffed high with multiple shopping bags, giving her the appearance of having three breasts, the ravages of street life had taken a toll on her. She was known to all and sundry who live and work in that neighbourhood. You usually heard her before you saw her, and I was particularly drawn to her because of her accent. Her voice was unmistakably Jamaican. Her choice of words particularly her curse words, would cause passers-by of Caribbean heritage to do a double take. She was usually screaming insults at no one in particular and would soliloquise about females who used their wombs as repositories for dead infants.

I was somewhat curious about her, her identity, her family, and whether she belonged to anyone. She always seemed clean and she never begged. She spent a considerable amount of time searching the trash cans for recyclables and could sometimes be seen sitting on the subway steps mending her tattered garments. In the early morning during the rush hours, she could always be found in the underground tunnel that leads to the concourse level of the Twin Towers.

I wonder where she was that fateful Tuesday morning. Did she hear the planes, did she see the commotion as I and thousands of other persons rushed to safety? Was she able to escape or has she met a fate similar to the thousands who are still missing, having got caught in the rubble. I wonder if her confused mind was able to process the information that she was in imminent danger.

As the world grieves and families search for the missing, and loved ones comfort the bereaved, and flags are flown at half staff and memorial services are being held, I feel this compelling need to tell this story and to give voice to a fellow Jamaican whom I suspect might have perished in the attack. I wonder if she is being searched for by family members, I wonder if she is being mourned by anyone.

I feel a certain guilt that in the 12 years I have worked in that area, I would encounter her several times daily and not once did I make an effort to lend a hand to my fellow country woman. Maybe I could have made a difference in her life. Maybe I should have gotten her the necessary medical and social service assistance that would lead her away from a life on the street.

I do not know what has happened to this poor demented Jamaican woman who lived in the shadow of the Twin Towers, who knows maybe she escaped. The guilt I feel about not helping her in the past has served to reinforce for me a lesson which most of us learn very early in life, but oftentimes fail to follow; "We are our brother's and sister's keepers."

I am etc.,

ELSADA DIANA CASSELLS

EdCassells@Aol.com

Via Go-Jamaica

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