We so bad, yet everyone wannabe we, eh?
As a pin drop we dey pon foreign TV, eh?
We so bad, and wi country run-dung, eh?
Yet look how dem prawl off pon we beach, eh?
We so bad, every day we kill a next man, eh?
Yet we always have an outstretched hand, eh?
We so bad, dem say as we see badness we choose it, eh?
Yet a we give the world sweet reggae music, eh?
We so bad, we nuh laugh nor kin teet, eh?
Yet we mek dem smile wid ackee & saltfish, roast yam and fry dumpling, eh?
We so bad, everybody a badman, eh?
Yet a who create the words: “Irie,” ‘Cool nuh star” and “tek is easy”
Jamaicans who we are proud to be
You nuh see that everybody wanna be we, eh?
You promise to love and care for me
no matter what the cost may be.
You make a request and i oblige
even when i felt so shy
loving you, i thought would be easy
now i feel i am going crazy.
you just walk out on me
yet you promise, youl’d never leave
Please tell me what i have done wrong
please, i want to understand.
I guess this is a hopless dream
you’re like water, going down stream
Each night i cry myself to sleep
blaming myself, ‘you were in too deep’
you just walk out on me
yet you promise you’ld never leave
I want to overcome this heart ache
never again will i be in this state,
I will never love any one else
no one,but only myself
I am still trying to understand
I guess was part of God’s plan
you just walk out on me yet,
you promise you’ld never leave.
Submitted by Tracey Frazer – Member
Faith clutches a bunch of letters securely to her chest, as if they were made of some precious metals; with each wobble and sway of the bus her clenched fingers gripped tighter, she felt the blood begins to drain from them. As she sat in the hot, sticky, filthy bus, the usual body odors filled her nostrils; sweat, cheap perfume and some unidentifiable scents are wrapped with nauseating smell of gasoline emissions that ooze from the bus. The only relief was provided by the slight breeze the whips in, through the window, once in while. She skewed her body awkwardly, as the man that stood beside her pressed his groin against her shoulders; arching to make room for the bus conductor to bully his way to the back of the bus in order to collect fares from passengers. She rummaged around her purse for coins all-the-while never letting go of the envelopes. The bus was so crammed and still more people piled on at every stop. Babies fuss, women ague and the bus stereo blares, all competing for her ears’ attention. Ignoring the ruckus, she anxiously tapped her feet and hummed an unfamiliar hymn to reclaim her sanity. She begins to look out the widow eagerly, getting more nervous and agitated as the bus inched closer to her stop.
Finally she’s home, with her belongings spread on a table in the dingy kitchen; it occurred to her that she can’t remember how she got there or what happen during her walk home, it seems as if nature channeled her feet left-right-left all the way to this point. Slumping in a crooked chair; there is an instant contraction in her stomach as she eyes fell on the big manila envelop, crumbled and spotted with the sweat from her palm prints. The “United States of America Embassy” stamp beckons her; it caresses her like the cool side of the pillow, inviting her to open with ease. She had collected the mails earlier from her friend’s house. Her little house on an undeveloped parcel of land in the hills of St Thomas had no formal address. It had no street name either and only one street light that was place at a cross-road around the time of the last general election, when the Member of Parliament promised that “we will develop the area if you vote for us.” She shook her head, every four year that is the same phrase used and nothing changed after the big hurrah. “Story of my life,” she thought, “nothing ever changed in this country.” In a whisper she breathes “please Lord, let this be the revelation that I’ve been praying for.”
Hands shaking, she tried her best to open the envelope carefully–it didn’t work; it ripped down the middle almost damaging the contents inside. She let out huge sighed, she had forgotten to breathe the whole time; she took another deep breath just to calm her nerves. Glancing over the usual introductions, her eyes raced to the end of the letter. “Oh my God!” she shouted and sprang to her feet. Her head almost touch the sealing as she made a huge leap in celebration. She finally calms down long enough to reread the letter. It was then it finally sank in, she had a ton of requirements to fulfill before the appointment the letter had confirmed that she had with the embassy on August 22 at 10:43 a.m. She let the time and date sleep into her psyche, it’s May now that means she has 3 months to get her these documents together. There was birth certificate and passport among other things to acquire. They all require money, money she didn’t have to begin with. She is struggling just to get by as it is; but this is a sacrifice that she is willing to make, it will all be worth it and as far as she is concern the children will respect her bold move, she quiet her conscience.
Furthermore, there are bigger obstacles to overcome than the money. Her original birth certificate is at her mother’s house in the country. Oh her mother, she hadn’t spoken to her in ages. They had never had the typical mother-daughter relationship and to make matters worst, when her mother migrated to the US, she left on a sour note. Faith received no calls, not even a letter from her in over 10 years. All that’s about to change, “mother will be visiting the next month,” she was told by her sister. She inhaled deeply her chest swells and she let all her air out, flattening her stomach like a deflated balloon. “Yep!” she shout to no one in particular, “this is going to be an up hill task, lets see if I can handle this curve ball life’s about to throw my way.” She slump back into the chair her gaze lowered to the floor all the joy bled from her face.
