Patricia Watson, Features Coordinator
ELLA IS seven years old, and right now she just wants everybody to love her mother and treat her with respect. The outspoken little girl walked into the nurses' station at the Jamaica AIDS Support office in Kingston with a smile that lit up the whole room. Although it was after 3:00 p.m. that Friday afternoon, she looked quite smart in her uniform. She was neat and clean.
She knew exactly why she was going to be interviewed and without much prompting, she started to talk about her mother, who is HIV-positive and their experiences in their inner-city community. Before long, the smile on her face vanished, and it was replaced by a look of concern, fear and pain.
"My mother she tell me sey she have HIV and that it will kill her and it is bad. Well, I pray to the Lord and I ask the Lord to heal her. Last night she said she wasn't feeling well and I dream she was in a coffin and I wake up and start to cry and pray to the Lord. When I was getting ready for school, I pray and beg the Lord please don't let the sickness kill my mother (her voice breaks, and her eyes shine with unshed tears). She tell mi every day what sickness she have and I always pray for her and I give her any lunch money I have. Sometimes I give her $100 when I have money, or $200 so she can go to work.
TEASED
"My granny is D's mother, and she tell me about D and the sickness. Mi granny sell to give her money and pay school fee. Sometimes when I go to school, I cannot manage the pickney dem. They tease me and tell mi sey mi mother have HIV and she have 18 man and dem rape her. Mi cannot manage it and sometime mi granny siddung deh and watch mi, but I cannot manage dem and the teacher cannot manage neither. Sometimes dem all show mi sey mi mother dead and that she a go rape me and kill me and when dem tell mi so, mi feel bad and start cry and a pray to the Lord.
"They sey mi madda a whore and she a sodomite. Sometimes they sey mi madda a bitch. Mi tell the teacher and the teacher beat dem. The big kids, they know better and they still do it. I miss my teacher at basic school 'cause she was kind to me. I was bright at basic school and I used to do my homework. Now, sometime they tear up mi book; mi cannot manage dem, they too rough. They tear out the book leaf and I can't do no work and then they call me whore and bitch like mi mother and they cuss bad word after me. I feel so bad when they do it," Ella stated.
The little girl fought desperately to hold in the tears as she spoke about her mother and the treatment meted out to her and her family. She sat in the chair with her hands in her lap, ever so often leaning forward maybe to ensure her account was being taken correctly.
"I take care of mi mother; I feed her and sometimes when she can't walk, I try to help her. She has a cookery book that I read and try to cook and I try to make her happy. I sing ... (in the severest voice she could muster, little Ella broke out into a rendition of Jesus Loves Me This I Know):
Jesus loves me this I know,
For the Bible tells me so,
Little ones to Him belong,
They are weak, but He is strong.
"And I sing some other songs to her, and sometimes I write the songs or poems and read them to her. Sometimes I try to write poems, but I cannot remember anything."
Ella noted that one of her most painful experiences since she learnt of her mother's illness came at the hands of her father. So painful was the ordeal, she has vowed not to have anything to do with him.
SLAM THE DOOR INNA MI FACE
"My father, when it was my birthday and going to be seven, I go to my father and sey, 'Daddy, please if I can get mi maintenance money'. And him go weh wid him girlfriend and when him a go in the house, him slam the door inna mi face and sey, 'Gwey, yuh sodomite.' I don't like it and (in a dismissive gesture, washing her hands of him) I don't have any father again. And mi madda cry and mi poor heart was like an open book," she stated, lips trembling.
"I have two sisters: Mi sister name K. Her father die and mi sister name B. Her father nuh give mi mother a red cent, only K father; he used to treat us very good. My father name B, but anytime dem see mi on the road and dem sey, 'See B daughter deh,' mi tell them sey mi not B daughter anymore," she said dejectedly with tears in her eyes.
Even adults, apart from her father, in the well-known inner-city community abuse the diminutive little girl. No one seems to respect her feelings. She explained that adults are supposed to know better, but still they make her feel bad.
"Ah was walking on the street and a bwoy call mi 'whore, whore' and I don't like it and I tell mi madda. Sometimes I hear gunshot and a pray and pray and pray. I don't want the HIV take my mother at all. I don't fast in people business. I go birthday parties with my friends. I treat my friends good, but sometimes they treat mi bad. They thump me in my mouth; they beat me up and I can't do anything. I can't manage them. I don't have any friends," she said in a whisper.
The interview ended at the point where it became obvious that talking about her experiences was too much for this little girl. She had tried desperately not to cry and I preferred to allow her her dignity. I, however, took her in my arms and hugged her close. She enthusiastically returned the favour and I was rewarded with a smile that could melt the hardest of hearts.
