This is a step forward for the media of TnT . . . It could've been a bigger one but i'll settle with this for now. Taken in its entirety from The Trinidad Express.
It is late afternoon, around 5.45 on Friday. Downtown, George Street corner is quiet, with only a few people waiting on transport home because it is Labour Day, a holiday.
I was waiting for a taxi to take me to Block 8, in John John, Laventille. I was in the wrong taxi stand for Block 8, so I asked the PH driver how much he would charge to take me into John John.
"Which part of John John?" he asked. "By Block 8," I responded. He grimaced.
"Family, ah doh really go up there yuh know, but ah go charge yuh a $20 as is you," he said.
I got into the PH car and headed to Block 8 to spend the night.
My friend greeted me and took me into her apartment.
It was she, who had invited me to spend the night at her place, after I had expressed an interest in finding out what life was like at Block 8. Friday's visit was two days after ten-year-old Tecia Henry was found dead, on Wednesday morning, her bloated body was found stuffed in a hole under a house mere metres from her home.
Henry had gone missing two Saturdays ago while on an errand for her mother.
Five men-all of whom reportedly have either pending matters or convictions-are in police custody in connection with the matter.
"If you need any snacks go for it now cause we will be under lockdown in the next few hours and the shop will be closed," my friend told me, shortly after 6 p.m.
It turned out that a self-imposed curfew was in place in Block 8. Sometimes, when a police patrol is around, and now that the police mobile unit is set up, residents enjoy more hours to chat with their neighbours.
At around 8 p.m., that's exactly what my friend and I were doing; sitting on some steps outside her apartment as neighbours came out and joined us.
A middle-aged women called out to her son who was playing with a ball nearby: "(Child's name called), ah tell yuh doh go where ah cannot see yuh. Dey killin children now."
Steupsing under her breath, she then said: "Allyuh hear de chile (Henry) funeral is Thursday? Dat real sad."
She went on, "Yuh know de streets saying is (name called) and dem set de fire to (name called ) house.
She then launched an attack on what she called the hypocrisy of several residents, declaring that that "they know exactly what going on here and turn a blind eye towards it."
"All they know is to blame this one and that one, never themselves," the woman said.
"I remember when here was a place yuh could leave de door open to yuh house and go in de shop. When ah chile do dotishness, yuh could correct him. Now yuh cyah even correct other people children 'cause de parents coming and cussing yuh out."
The resident said that not only were young men the bad eggs in the John John community but that a lot of females were taking part in crime as well.
"De other day when (name called) get shoot up de hill, is a girl who lure him there and set up de scene," she claimed.
She complained about a decline of father figures for the youths who were engaging in crime, pointed out many of the women who took part in Laventille protests either have pending matters or convictions before the courts, that a lot of the single parents in the area sought help from drug pushers and criminals to raise their children.
When these men are murdered, the women seek other pushers and the cycle continues, she said to a captive audience of myself and three other women.
I interrupted:
"If you know the criminals and what they do, then why not unite and..."
The woman laughed raucously. Looking at my friend, while pointing at me, she asked:
"She not from here?"
"Sweetheart, this is de ghetto, when yuh see, yuh ain't see, that is if yuh value yuh life. When yuh see people protesting up here, what yuh feel, they doing it on they own free will?
"No, some do it on dey own, others, when certain individuals want to make up numbers yuh don't have a choice, yuh come out and protest even though yuh don't believe in de cause."
As we sat chatting on a cool evening, we heard the sound of gunshots. The woman got up.
"Well it's time to sleep. That's another thing. Up here gunshots are like doorbells, just that yuh don't open de door."
She yells out her son's name and motions him to follow her indoors.
My friend and I remained sitting on the steps for a while longer. Not more than 10 minutes later, four boys, looking no older than 16, even younger, walked past us.
They offered us no greeting. One of them looks at my friend, fiddling with something under an oversized jersey.
My friend tapped my shoulder and said whispered: "Time to go inside."
I didn't catch on until she repeated her statement.
As the door closed behind us, we heard yet another gunshot, only closer this time.
I ran to the window to pull the curtains open.
My friend grabbed me, pulling at me frantically.
"Aye yuh mad, around here yuh doh do dem thing," she said as more shots sounded close by, like right outside the apartment.
"Are we safe inside here?" I asked, reality beginning to sink in.
"So what you want to do, you want to leave, well go nah," my friend said.
I looked at her, she looked at me. It was around 10 p.m. on Friday night. My friend sought to calm my now-real fear.
"Men only showing off their heat tonight," she said.
"Police patrolling the area, so no killings will take place tonight (Friday)."
She said she was going to bed, but not before making sure to warn me in no uncertain terms against succumbing to my journalistic "skinning open" her curtains to see what was happening outside.
That night, as my friend slept, I sat in her living room, dozing off, only to spring up ever so often at the sound of gunshots, doors slamming and heavy panting from men running along the corridors of the apartment buildings.
After a while, I gave up on the idea of getting any sleep; I opened my laptop and began to write this story. I said my prayers. At 5.27 a.m., I told myself, just half an hour more before I leave.
It was not until 6.30 am, however, that I was able to get a PH car out of Block 8, and with no regrets for not having breakfast with my friend, I hightailed it out of Laventille.
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