No wonder she couldn't lift her arms afterward. Reporter Nashauna Drummond gives it her all. AS THE famous song goes, 'If I knew then what I know now' I would have found a way to chicken out of my editor's 'brilliant' suggestion that we go cane cutting for a day to understand the working conditions of female cane cutters.
Ignorance is bliss so I wasn't even daunted by the fact that I had to be up at 4:30 a.m. After all that was part of the experience, right? So I donned an old T-shirt, a pair of jeans my wardrobe wouldn't miss and headed out to Bernard Lodge with the rest of the team.
As we entered the field other workers looked on curiously and a few gathered around to find out who the newcomers were. I must admit that I was excited and felt powerful in my gloves, machete in hand to undertake a gigantic task.
BLOWS LIKE LIGHTNING
With our rows outlined and file (to sharpen the machete) in my back pocket, I grabbed my first cane and delivered the fatal blow. Wow, I thought as I topped it (cutting off the top), this is not that bad. But then the canes became stubborn. Some needed to be chopped two or three times to relinquish their roots. My blows were at times like lightning, they never struck the same place twice.
I was told that cane cutting was a dirty
job, and it is. The soot from the burnt cane quickly clung to my clothes and my gloves were soon black.
I glanced over at the rows being cut by Margaret Bennett and Mercelyn Burton. Their piles of cane and rows were extremely neat. Their canes were arranged in neat little bundles and the ground where they were working was completely bare. The rows cut by the men on the other side were another story. Everything was strewn about. I looked at my row and saw little stumps staring up at me mockingly.
My editor, Grace Cameron, who was also my cutting partner (you always cut in pairs), started complaining that the canes weren't straight which, though it sounded funny at first, posed a major problem. Due to the passage of Hurricane Ivan some of the canes were lying diagonal. Not only were they difficult to cut, they were also setting (sprouting roots at the joints). It got harder and I began to sweat and itch. Exhaustion began to set in. By this time, surprisingly, my editor and I had quite a pile to show for our efforts. Still, I was ready to quit but with only 10 minutes to complete an hour she encouraged me to tough it out. The last two minutes of that hour was spent cleaning up my work area.
I'm proud to say that I started on my three rows, they weren't halved but they were started.
In the five or so minutes it took us to drive from the field back to the factory office, my entire body seemed to cease up. I tried lifting my arm and the pain was excruciating. As I fought to keep it up it shook uncontrollably. Then there was the tightening across my shoulders and lower back due to the constant bending. I hurt all over.
As soon as I got home and had a shower I was out like a light. The next morning was worse, it hurt to get dress or to even answer the phone at work.
Female cane cutters are to be respected because it takes more than you could ever imagine to do their job.
Nashauna Drummond
