The health reform, as expected is meeting with some resistance, from conservative Republicans, some Democrats, especially those who are in the pockets of the HMOs and the Insurance industry. Some are putting on a show for their constituents and their financial backers in the private sector, but the bill will pass. Their may be some minor modifications to take into consideration, small business and also to raise the level for taxation. Judge Sotomayor's confirmation is certain. Some senators eg. Graham, have had their public posturings, defending the "honor" of "white men" against the "wise Latina", and some, the arch-conservatives will continue to oppose her, but it's all over but the swearing in. Good-bye, Palin, your fifteen seconds are over and there is no "revival' time. It was interesting to see the extent to which ignorance still dominate some sector of American society.

      Amadinejad has had his hands slapped by the real power in Iran.....the Ayatollal Ali Khamenei, and has had to let his vice-president go after he was told to do so by Khamenei. He has now fired his intelligence minister and his culture minister has resigned. Seems like "a hot time in Teheran"

      The soap opera in Honduras is still dragging on. Zelaya drives up to the border and shakes his fist at those who have replaced him...the Congress and the Supreme Court, and they in return, refuse to play, even though Hillary and the Organisation of American States, have demanded his return to power. In the meantime the military is musing and waiting for an excuse to grab power, in the name of security and stability.
     
      I have just returned from a week in New York, and I can tall you that things are looking up. The worst seem to be over, business is picking up, housing sales are looking good and the money is being made. On my recent visit to Tornto(before the garbage started piling up),at the end of June, I was surprised by the amount of building cranes dotting the skyline of Toronto and Mississauga and Brampton and eleswhere. Understand this however, this is a "jobless recovery"....business is improving but jobs are still being lost and those that are lost will not come back. New jobs have to be found and this is especially bad news for many in their late forties and fifties. The high paying jobs are being replaced by mediuym and low-paying jobs in the service sectors.

      The wars in Afghanistan and Pakistan are intensifying. Losses are heavy on all sides and it will get worse. These are the months when Taliban and al Qaeda, are expected to mount fresh and bold attacks. Expect the " suicide bombers" to increase their activities. They will try to bloody the Coalition forces, thinking that if they can cause many deaths and casualties, and that pressure will build to end the war. They are mistaken. Pres. Obama is determined to stay, and there will be pressure from him on the Canadians, the Dutch and others to extend their mission.      
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My mother’s name was Bhagratia, but it was only used on formal occasions, like religious ceremonies. She was called Sonia by her brothers and sisters. My father always endearingly called her Sona and we, her children, called her Sona gal, especially when we wanted something special from her. She was not allowed to go to school…..when her brothers would go to school, she would plead with her father “please baap ( father), let me go to school” but he was adamant “ no beti( daughter), girls do not go to school” In those days girls were taught to cook and sew and then married off. Education became very important to her and she made certain that my sisters were educated. I remember her walking to school with us each morning and then returning home to finish her chores. In the afternoon, when we returned from school, she would have tea and biscuits ready for us. Then she would set about preparing dinner for us.

        In the evenings, after she had done her chores and we had done our home work, she would sit us down and while swinging on the hammock, she would tell us stories. (It was only very later on in life when I had my own children that I fully appreciated what she was doing). She was teaching us, nurturing us, instilling in us important lessons.

       My favourite was about two brothers and a sister, who were orphans living by themselves. Each day the brothers would go to work in the fields. It was backbreaking work and it was always very hot. The little sister remained at  home to do the cleaning and cooking. Each day, she picked bhaji (spinach), from the garden to cook(They ate no fish and/or meat). She would clean, wash and cut the bhaji, and with some salt she would cook it. The brothers tired from work, would eat and go to sleep.

      This routine went on every day, until one day, while she was cutting the bhaji, she cut her finger and the blood got into it. She was in a panic. She could not throw it away. She washed it again and cooked it. The brothers as usual came home, tired and hungry. While eating, the big brother stopped. The sister in a trembling voice asked “what is wrong dada (big brother)? “ After taking another handful and chewing on it, the brother said ”Beti (sister), what did you put in the bhaji? “ Nothing dada”. “ This bhaji taste so good beti”. “Thank you dada”, she replied with relief.

     The next day, she willfully cut her finger and let a few more drops of blood fall on the bhaji. The brothers came home ate their food and for the first time began to laugh and talk, rather than going to bed. The sister was so happy. This went on for some days. The food was tasting better and better. One day the brothers decide to come home early and hide and watch their sister cook. They saw what she did. After the meal they called the sister and asked her again why the food tasted so good. Once again she said she cooked it the same way. They persisted, telling her not to be afraid and to tell them the truth. Finally she told of cutting her finger the first time and being afraid to tell them…”and dada you enjoyed it so much that I did it again and when I saw how happy it made you and lil’ bhai (little brother) and how you laughed and smiled, I put more and more of my blood into it)”.   The brothers hugged her and told her not to be afraid and to continue to do what she was doing.

      Weeks went by and the brothers started to think about how they could make the food even better. One day, the little brother said “dada, if some of beti blood taste so good, how do you think she will taste?” The big brother slapped him and told him to be quiet. He was very disturbed, because he was thinking the same thing .After a few days the two brothers decided to kill the sister and eat her. They did so, but the problem was, there was no one to cook for them. Eventually, they tried but it was no good. They had no food, their sister was dead, and they were hungry. This went on with no relief. They were always hungry. They were always angry and they could not go to work because they were so weak. Soon they started quarreling and one day the little brother struck the big brother. He got so angry that he grabbed his cutlass (machete) and slashed him. The little brother bleeding from the head grabbed his cutlass and struck back. They went at each other until finally they both fell. Before they died, they crawled to each other and, weeping asked,“    What happened to us? Where is beti?”

       My mother with tears in her eyes would then tell us…” remember to always be thankful for what you have, always respect and care for each other and always be contented “ We would go off to bed  accompanied by the story of the Bhaji and the Sister.

      My mother’ s stories filled our heads and in my case had a tremendous influence.

 

    Uneducated, but not illiterate, she taught us to love, care, be grateful and above all, to not forget family.   

My father was born at Mara, Berbice, Guyana  on   April  19th, 1913, but left there with his older brother, Bhagwandin, after the death of their father.

 

They settled in Port Mourant, where he worked for my grandfather Jaggernath. His name was Bhagoutie, but he was known as Halan and he married my mother, Bhagratia ( born November 2nd, 1916) in 1929.

 

They had 10 children,(the first two boys, however died in infancy). We are three sisters and five brothers and I am the oldest of the sons, the others are Kesso , Narine, Keshwar and Krishin and my sisters are Bhagmanie, Deokalia (older than me), and Bhagwandie.

    

My father was orphaned when he was about seven years old, and his only close relative was his brother. My father was not able to attend school beyond std.2 but he acquired a tremendous amount of knowledge and experience, whether it was farming and/ or cattle ranching.

 

He was very successful tending our rice fields and cattle. He knew when to plant and when to reap; how to plough and rake and prepare the fields so as to get the highest yield. He knew how to take care of his cows, those that were used for milk and those that were used to work the fields. He became so proficient handling his cows that he was called upon by the sugar estates to demonstrate how to plough the cane fields. He traveled all over the country explaining and demonstrating this skill.

 

His ability to understand breeding, allowed him to breed some fine animals, some he used himself and others he sold at a fine price. He knew how to take care of the sick ones and on many occasions I saw him save a pregnant cow that was having trouble giving birth, tenderly pushing his hands in the stomach to turn a breeched calf. As children, we were allowed to milk the cows and also to help with the branding.

 

On one occasion, he took my brother Kesso and I, as companions, when he was working on one of our far away rice fields. We were not expected to work, just be there and make sure he had enough water, as the sun was very sharp. This one (of many), trips, saw us riding the train to the “backdams”. It was a journey of about half-an hour or so. When we got to our stop “Third Depth”, we had to walk another twenty minutes or so.

 

 It was hot and itchy, and the path was very narrow with tall bushes on both sides, and a trench on one side and cane fields on the other. There were many frightening sounds and rustlings and splashings, and when we asked our father what it was, he said that we should not worry as it was just small lizards or birds. My brother and I looked at each other, scarcely able to hide our fears. We came to “watch-house”, and met an old man who lived there and who was the watchman. He was a kindly old man and he gave us some bananas and some surprisingly cool water. We asked him how he was able to keep the water so cool, and he showed us how he filled the bottles and then submerged them in the trench.

      After we had eaten and had rested a bit, my father decided to go to the fields and do some work. We accompanied him, and while he was working we sat under a tree, looking at him. We then decided to use the “cast net” to try and catch some fish. Our father told us not to “drift” too far away and always make sure we could see him and not to go too close to the water, as there maybe alligators lurking in the shallows. We took turns casting the net, one of us was always on the lookout, and we caught some “houri” and some “congo fish” and even a couple of the very elusive “hassar”. When our father was finished and came to join us, he saw the fish and began to laugh (he laughs very easily and it was his way of either comforting us or telling us that we had done well). We took the fish to the watch-house and the old man cleaned them and cooked them, mixing some squash in. It was starting to get a bit dark as we sat down to eat.

 

As we were eating, my brother let out a scream and pointed to one of the posts of the house. It was a huge snake crawling up the post. The watchman, calmly got up and using a “cutlass”, killed the snake and threw into the bushes. That was it until I asked him what kind of snake it was. He said that it was a” camera snake” and began to explain that they always traveled in pairs and that their eyes catch the images around and then passes them on to the other. He had a twinkle in his eyes, while he was telling this story, but we were so taken aback with what he was saying that we did not notice the wink he gave our father.

 

He continued by saying that if you kill one of the snakes, his companion will follow you wherever you go to get revenge. We were getting very afraid, looking around to see if we can see the other snake. The watchman told us not to bother, because they move so quietly that you cannot see when they strike. The food that had tasted so good and went down so easily was now leathery and dry. We could not swallow and gave up on eating. The plan was we would sleep overnight at the watch-house and the next morning our father would do some more work and then we will catch the train to go back home, It was a Saturday and so we did not have school until Monday.

 

 

We tried to sleep, but all we could think about was the other snake. Suddenly there was a rustling sound coming from the bushes. We started to scream, my brother and I, and we would not stop, even though it was only the watchman, returning from his rounds. We got so hysterical that our father was very concerned. He tried to comfort us and even though the watchman said that his story was a joke, we did not believe him and we begged our father to take us home. Home was a few miles away and it was very dark, but we did not care. Finally when our father realized that we would or could not stop, he started to pack up our stuff. He was an amazing man. He had worked all day and I am certain that he was tired. He never shouted at us. He never threatened us. He did not get angry at us. All he tried to do was to talk calmly putting each of us under his arms, rubbing our heads. I was about 9 years old and my brother was 71/2 years and my father was 38 years old.

 

We said goodbye to the watchman and started on our trip back home. It was getting darker and darker and we had a long and difficult ahead walk ahead. As I said earlier, the foot-path was very narrow, with bushes on both sides, with a trench and cane fields. If it were hard before in the daylight and it was, it was doubly so now. The watchman had given us a small lamp but its glow was of little use. We stumbled on, holding on to our father, trying to hide in him. He gathered us as close as he could, but now we began to hear all kinds of sounds that were unfamiliar. We cringed and cried and still he kept his cool, humming songs to us. There were splashings, which was explained as lizards jumping in the water to get away from us. There hootings, which was explained as owls going out to hunt. There were gruntings, which was explained as cows sleeping. There were barkings which was explained as dogs from the other watch-houses. There were rustlings which was explained as small rats searching for food and then there was a sudden sound of a roar, which was explained as a jaguar hunting in the distance. Everything sounded so near and so frightening. Our father coolly told us stories, sang songs and asked us to join in and promised that when we get home, he will take us to a movie.

 

We were very tired and sleepy. Flies were buzzing around us. Mosquitoes were biting us and still we walked on, because what we were leaving was far worse than what we were going through on this walk home. Sounds were everywhere and our hearts were racing. After a while we sort of got accustomed to all that was going on, when suddenly there was a great sound of hoofs and a crashing through the bushes. We stood transfixed with fear but then we saw that it was a cow and her calf. This was re-assuring as we have been told on many occasions by our father and others that cows protect people. We wanted to believe this so much and when the cow and its calf started to walk ahead of us, it was very comforting. The next part of the journey went by more quickly. We were still afraid, but with the cow and its calf as company, it seems as if we had come through the worst of it. We rested a while, drank some tea that the old man had given us and making sure that the cow was still with us, we felt somewhat better. Our father in the meantime had fallen silent, but we were not concerned, but we should have been. Suddenly the cow and the calf turned off into another path. We did not follow as we had to keep on the one we were on, in order to get home.

 

Fifteen minutes later we found out why our father was silent. There had been heavy rain in this area during the day and the small bridge that was over the trench had been washed away. This happens frequently, and it was no problem during the day. You just wade across the trench. It was not too wide and the current was minimal. Not this night. It was dark and the current was rough. As well the side of the trench had washed away and so it was wider and steeper. Our father was a strong swimmer and he had taught us how to swim, but this was different. He had two of us to take care of. He could not take both of us across at once, and we were crying again. He talked to us calmly, telling us not to be afraid, that he will take care of us, that we will be safe and that he has to take us one at a time across. His calmness soothed us. It dawned on us that if we wanted to get home, this is what we had to do. He took my brother first, but only after he took his “long rope” (as a cattle rancher, he always had one with him, whenever he goes to the “backdams”. He tied one end around his waist and wrapped the other end around a nearby tree and asked me to hold on to the end. I felt very heroic. He went with my brother into the water and swam with him, holding on to his neck. He deposited him on the other side and grabbing the rope, came back quickly for me. I was too busy holding on to the rope and thinking that I was helping him to even hear any sounds. He took me across and even dumped me into the water allowing me to swim a bit. My brother wanted to come in too, but it would have been too dangerous.

The rushing water was refreshing. Not only did it cool us, it also gave us a new strength. We knew that we were not too far away from home, even though it was still a mile or so away. We had recognized the place as being ”fourteen”, a name whose origin I still do not know. The rest of the journey was comparatively uneventful. We reached home about 11 p.m. Everyone was asleep, but woke up when they heard our father calling out for our mother. She was very surprised and concerned. She asked many questions but our father had fallen asleep. She quickly heated some water gave us a bath and insisted on giving us some food and made certain that we ate it all up. Not to worry, we were very hungry. We slept fitfully and woke up the next morning tired and bruised, but all was well. Our father was already up and about. It was Sunday and as usual he took his bath in the trench, after he had collected his hibiscus flowers to pray with and to let flow away afterwards. He was now having his breakfast and he was telling our mother and sisters and brothers what had happened. He did not complain.

 

He did not blame us.

 

He just told the story, at times laughing and nudging my brother and I who sat very close to him.

 

While he was eating, he was also feeding us. That is the way he is. He called his children his “gol -uns”….his golden ones.

 

At about 4 o’clock, he called my brother and I and told our mother to “dress us up”. She did so with a smile on her face. We were puzzled and asked why, but she only continued to smile. Our father was all dressed in his ”Sunday-best”…black pants and white shirt and his Wilson hat. He took us in each hand and we started to walk towards the road. Ten minutes later we stopped in front the cinema and only then did we remember that he had promised to take us to the movies. The movie was Awara. He had not just told us that to calm us only.

 

He meant it.

 

Our father always kept his word.