CARRYING WATER ON TOP OUR HEAD

The water bucket, I carried was designed to hold just enough for 1-2 uses. So, water fetching was a daily chore, to fill up the water barrel, located beside the house, to catch rain water.

Balancing the water bucket on my head was a feat in discipline and poise all at the same time. Not to mention walking downhill from the roadside to where mammy lived below road level. The worn path had natural steps that were grooved from bare root vines that laid across small rocks. So, you only had to slowly place your feet one in front of the other, never looking down, for fear of tumbling forward down the steep hill.

That water was cold! It was important for my cousin, Sharon, and I, to bathe by the river or in the spring. Washing-up, by the water spicket on the roadside, was all we could do in the early morning, before others would show up to catch water, too.

Google picture of anonymous girl carrying water for her family.

My cousin, Sharon, was a year younger, than me. She was fair skinned, with a round face and a mischievious smile. Her nick-name was Panchy, and her baby sister, Jacynth' s nick-name was Puunchie. Puunchie had a velvety dark complexion with a doll baby face and bright eyes. These were loving names given by their mom (aunt Esmay). She was a strict church woman with a curvy figure and a formal disposition. Always neatly dressed. Picture coming in bio.

I remember back when Puunchie first got her new teeth, that she loved biting other children. Maybe she liked to hear them scream. My mother and her mother(my aunt), would argue about the biting and what to do about it. Looking back, it was quite funny. My younger brother, Orien received a good bite from her. He was about 4 yrs. old.

Kingston was nothing like the countryside that I loved to visit. We had running tap water, although it was cold. Kingston homes had indoor bathrooms and kitchens.

The life back home in Jamaica, was the best. I got my first cold when I came to America. However, some hardships there, makes me appreciate that my mother was good enough to send for us when she came to America. More on why in my upcoming bio.

My mother lived in England for about 6 years before she came to America. So, I must have been only 5 yrs. old when she went abroad. My brother was 4yrs. old and my youngest sibling, Carol, was a 1 yr. old infant. Mmm. Writing does seem to clear up a lot of confusion.