Free Cookies, Stolen Sanity

“Crab Dag, yuh thief meh draaz from meh clothes line fuh parade like yuh bamzi deserve fancy frock!”
It was 6am in the morning when Auntie Patsy woke us up with her vulgar, weekly cuss outs to the unknown. We knew she loved throwing corn to catch fowl. This event was a norm in our nameless street. It outweighed the newspaper’s front page which was known to expose the Government’s trickery. While the Stabroek News article, written by some educated Author, spoke of the lack of funding in schools - Auntie Pasty made it her duty to cuss the President’s lack of control over the local primary school’s biscuit delivery.
“Imagine, dis rasshole nuh give we piknee dem biscuits, but ah drive round Georgetown inna big time car... meh chile belly gripe up with hungah and dem underpaid government teacha killing he with licks cause he too hungry fuh learn dem colonialized upitee, prappa English. Meh poor, meh can’t even afford fuh feed meh self an dem biscuits does hold meh chile belly till I can boil two yam an mek fufu or boil rice an salt!”
The Ministry of Education provided schools with biscuits for its students. The flower shaped cream biscuits were sweet on our tongues and a treat worth looking forward to. I loved the ones which were slightly burnt to a crisp. Sometimes, we received a cup of milk but this depended on if the school got lucky on a delivery. Auntie Patsy’s little odd jobs of braiding hair and cutting grass for those seeking cheap labour were far apart. She was pregnant every year and grew poorer with every new mouth to feed.
For a child living in poorer circumstances, these snacks kept the energy levels up and maintained a functional brain during the class hours. For Auntie Patsy’s child, this was his tea, breakfast and sometimes dinner. She was a single mother who managed to make ends meet under her rotting roof. During the rainy season, Auntie Patsy had more butter containers and pots on the floor to catch the leaking water in her home, compared to any other person on that street. The house appeared gray but this was not due to colour paint, it was the evidence of mole and mildew. All the trees in her yard were on strike – the children she bore ate the fruits before they were ripe. Some would say their “lickerishness blight the trees” and stunted their ability to produce. Her children would often appear in our yard to play as the scent of Granny’s cooking fumigated the neighbourhood. This was their plan to be offered a little plate while we ate. These chorused visits were causing a shortage to my share of food. I was not too happy with this situation but they were my friends and I understood their pain. The other neighbours banned the children from visiting their homes, since they believed Auntie Patsy was sending them to get free food or to thief something. She had her tricks of the trade to substantiate her mode of survival, but she was becoming a nuisance.
Granny and Auntie Patsy had a disagreement one day which left Auntie Patsy in tears. Auntie Patsy decided that she will invite herself in our yard to steal some rain water and eggs. As my Caribbean people know, rain water is like gold – we collect it in iron barrels or plastic buckets, we boil it, clean the mosquito’s lava out and drink it. Granny once proclaimed that this water was sent to us by God because the government’s pipe water was too rusty. The pollution of pipe water has been known to kill via cholera. So, this brazen woman took our rain water when we all knew her rotten house collects more of it inside, than outside. Auntie Patsy also helped herself to some of Granny’s eggs from the fowl pen we kept.
Granny cuss “she” stink, stink, stink until she cried. Granny is a giving woman but do not take your eyes and cross her by stealing her valuable resources. I felt so much pity for Auntie Patsy but as the saying goes, “Moon ah run till daylight ketch am” – (You may think that you are getting away with your misdeeds, but one day you will be caught).
Auntie Patsy’s misdeeds caught up with her one day when the night prowlers stole all her clothes from the line in her back yard. At this period of time, she was the enemy of everyone in the street. Many were immune to her sad situations and turned a blind eye on her cries. The Pastor blamed the devil within her – she has been known to entertain a good for nothing “Sweetman” who fathered her 9 children out of wedlock without giving her a dime. According to Auntie Patsy, he is a Fisher Man and this explained his once a year visitation. The Government cookie shortages did not work in her favour and neither did her dishonest plight to leech off the neighbours.
It was too early and “booboo” (eye mucus) did not leave our eyes before this woman started to cuss beyond the height of her voice. The bitterness from her tongue caused her to blame innocent people for her misfortune. On this particular Saturday morning, Auntie Patsy went officially insane, as per a biopsychosocial stand point. Her existence in a developing society posed a threat to others. The Police continuously arrested her and Granny often provided her bail money. The end was apparent when the mentally challenged woman tried to kill her new born baby and the elders in the street were forced to make things right.
Auntie Patsy‘s children were sent to her family members in Essequibo. She lost her rotten house and the Government made sure they delivered her to Berbice Mad House as a permanent resident.
Vexation of the spirit might remain silent during life’s harshest thunders and lightening. It is in this state of mind some are weakened into numbness. The force of evil grows, as if to maintain strength but like a rotting home... the spirit crumbles... sanity stolen.

Writer: Yolanda T. Marshall