The Girl from the Lane. Installment#2

The early mornings were Sheila’s best part of the day. The chirpings of birds chorusing with the crickets were her alarm clock. Even without looking at her wristwatch laying on her bedside table, she could tell it was 4.30am. The blanket of darkness that had enveloped her small room had now been tinted by the creeping breaths of approaching daylight. Somewhere outside the dogs in the neighborhood were barking at the early risers. The public bus service was far from reliable. Most of the commuters had to intercept the buses at the roundabout as the drivers never completed their routes. She could hear the voices of mothers encouraging their young children to “keep up” as they scurried along to catch the bus. She had perhaps an hour to fall in with the commuters, get her charges to school and herself to work.
School. That for her was never a distant memory, but one with a bitter taste. Sheila never considered herself a genius but she held her own in her classes. The transition from primary school to secondary education was fairly easy. Secondary school was a greater challenge, especially after third form. She seemed to have transformed from girl to woman overnight. The quickness of the transformation took herself and her mother by surprise. Her hormones had raged like a tumultuous hurricane, fanned by the abundance of testosterone stored in the slabs of muscles two grade levels above her.
Sheila’s mother had the best wishes for her children. The one thing that she was determined to do was prevent the repetition of the cycle that she had become trapped in. At sixteen, she had given birth to her first child. By the time she was twenty two, she was the mother of three. At thirty, she had become an old woman with seven children. Sheila was her third child and first daughter. Her lack of education had condemned her to a life of misery, and shackled her with a man whose only skill was shooting from his hips.
Even so, he made a fair effort at providing for their children. Compared with others in their small community though, they never went to sleep without food. School supplies were usually in short supply except for the school uniforms, but that apart, each child had a good pair of shoes and a presentable enough suit of clothing for church on Sunday.
Her mother’s impassioned plea was for her “to take in an education so that she would become somebody.”
Tony was the top athlete at Excelsior High School and a fifth former. Sheila could feel the firmness of his athletic frame even before they connected. By fourth form her womanhood was there for all to see. Tony had stayed two years extra in fifth form in order to contribute his thirty points to the schools track team at National Schools Championships. He ran the right wing on the school’s soccer team like the legendary Brazilian link man and batted three at “Sunlight Cup” cricket where he had recorded 12 centuries in two and a half seasons. Sheila caught up with him in fifth form. Her mother had stood like a sentinel between them. She had chores after school which included her younger siblings so their liaisons were brief and limited to hand-holding and an occasional embrace. It was bound to happen though, and did. The only thing good about the episode may have been the timing. She realized she was pregnant a week after school released the G.C.E. Examination results, and what she had passed was the pregnancy test.
Delceita was devastated. Her daughter had disgraced her household. Needless to say their tiny dwelling could not accommodate a grandchild, and Phanso would have none of it. “If you are big enough to take a man, then let him take care of you” A year and a half later, Newton was born. The cycle was completely reset and well underway.

It was Newton’s sneezing that brought her back from her reverie. The haziness had very quickly become light, the brilliance of which now lit her room. “Good morning God” she said aloud, and in her thoughts she finished a prayer for guidance for herself and the protection of her children throughout the day. It would take five minutes to prepare the Semolina porridge she was serving with Vienna sausages and sliced bread as a quick breakfast for the trio. The children’s lunch kits had been packed overnight and their clothes together.
At 5.49am Sheila Sampson was appealing to Latoya Campbell to hold onto her brother Newton Campbell’s hand as they scurried to catch the bus for the commute to school and work in the sprawling city of Kingston, Jamaica. Barring anything unforeseen, they should be downtown on time.
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