Clarendon College

    By: Shawna Kay Williams

  I wasn’t sure how I was going to tell him. I was too scared, too slow and too heartbroken.  

      I knew he would kill me. He had attempted it before. It wouldn’t be the first but it would be the last.

      I would be dead by the time I opened my mouth and spilled it out.

      I was too afraid. I wasn’t going to tell him. It would kill the both of us.  

      As he stumbled through the rusty zinc fence, sweaty and fuming, a bolt of foreboding threaded through my heart.

      He was bruised crimson and blood was coursing down his nostrils, gleaming in the mid day sun.

      His eyes were wild and ferocious and his once milk-white shirt was now stained with blood and torn apart, leaving his blood- plastered skin naked.

      He was coming towards me. My heart leaped heavily. My bones rattled and my feet began to weaken. I was faltering. I was about to die.

      “Git up gal!” he shouted, hauling my shivering frame from the ground, pointing his loaded SLR at me.

      “Weh him deh?” he demanded, still pulling my blouse and pounding me with his battered hands. I could feel my skin swelling and burning with the clotted blood lurking inside.

      I could feel my muscles going weak. I could see myself floating off to a restless sleep. I was still scared, too scared to talk. 

      I still wasn’t going to tell him. I must prepare to die. Not now, not ever. He won’t know. He would kill him cold blooded if I did. I couldn’t let that. I loved him too much. Even then, I could still hear the ring of his voice, warning me: “Don’t tell him!” I couldn’t let him down. I couldn’t talk about what happened that night. It was too much to say. 

      I knew that I had made a terrible mistake that very night with Latroy, but only because of this eternal torture. I couldn’t help it. It was his intoxicating aroma, mingled with my sweet love that had me toppling over the edge. It had forced me to a state of damnation. My pride and my innocence had evaporated with just one thrust. It was painful but I loved him. I loved Latroy. He deserved it. He just had to have it before the monster did.  

      As his hands kept lounging at my throat, ready to see my suffocation, I began to lose my senses.

       I remembered how his monstrous anger had compelled him to almost devour me one night. His urge. His masochistic roughness had me pinned down on that aged and crusty mattress in the backyard. He had attempted to take it away that night, placing a knife at my throat, threatening me to give in. He had used the moldy sheet to muffle my voice and his hovering built was forced between my thighs.

      I had managed to escape after telling him it was my time. He had backed off immediately but not before slashing me in the face with the knife. He was mad but I had given it all to my love. 

      I couldn’t give in to this bearded and grotesque monster. He wasn’t going to have it. He would die without it.

      I remembered the deadly howling of my mother when I boldly told her I had given it away. She threw tantrums all day, bellowed in the house and punched me all over. Her eyes had rolled like thunderous clouds in motion and tears made a rapid downpour from them.

      “Wi dead now! Don ago kill wi now!” she screamed and then earnestly squeezed my arms, stifling my dear life and roaring like a mad dog.

      But that grip was nothing like what this gruesome monster’s rage was doing to me. His sharp and piercing nails were sinking into my flustered flesh. I knew he was told everything that happened. His men had done the telling. They had seen me hiding that night.

      The crowd had already rushed from their houses to watch me, a martyr for their own fortune. They were ready to crucify me. I could feel their words, hard like stones, being flung from their mouths. I knew it was my dying day more than ever before. I was convinced this time for once. There was no escape. There was no turning back.

      I became too angry to care though. It was a change from fear to deep-seated anger, welling up in the depths of my lungs. I was prepared to make a sacrifice. I was prepared to be their designated martyr after all. I was going to rescue the chastity of those girls who were living in fear. I was going to save them and myself from his coarse roughness for once. It was sickening. I couldn’t stand it anymore!

      “Let me guh bwoy!” Let mi guh! I screamed and tried to unhinge myself from his tight grope.

      “Let mi guh woee!” I continued, adamant to break away. People looked on. They heard my scream but they did nothing. They didn’t try to save me, though I was risking the borders of death to save them.

      I continued to scream. I continued to shout for my dear redemption but he continued to ravage my body with wicked wounds. But I wouldn’t let him kill me. I would not let them kill me. I wouldn’t sacrifice my innocence for his blood-money. Oh the sin of it all! Oh the sin of his own cruelty! 

      I was stifling. I was deeply hurting. Blood splattered my face. Blood oozed from my nostrils. Blood marked my dying day.

      My skin was whipped black and blue and my abdomen suddenly gave out in a fitful surge. I knew what it meant. I wasn’t the only one hurting. Inside, I was dying. It was crying; perhaps not ready to be born in all the pain, in all the blood.

      I grew paranoid with anger. I began to scream for help.

 help me! Unnu help me!” But nobody moved. Nobody uttered a word.

      It was the unremitting blurring and the bloodied head of my attacker, whisked off in my hands that had them running off. That was the only time they moved.

      It was over at last. It was the end. I stumbled on my knees and laid him to rest. He was gone. The monster was gone. 
 

      That night as beautiful Latté curled in my arms with her hands clasped and her eyes closed, tears trickled down my face. She had survived but had died in the end.

      He wasn’t even here to see her. He was locked behind those imprisoning metal gate. He was sentenced on death row.

      It was the end for him. It was the end for me and the baby. We were both going with him. We were both going to meet him in our heavenly home. There he will receive us. I would tell him this time. I would tell him how much I love him.

      As it drenched through the heat of our flesh and I cried from the pain of it all, both our eyes became closed and I covered the book and went to sleep, vowing to tell him at last. 
 
 
 
 

  By: Shawna Kay Williams   

 With more than 700 persons gruesomely murdered in Clarendon since the start of the year, a grim cloud has been cast over the lives of many surviving relatives.

      The merciless bloodletting has wounded many young hearts and despite a great effort to overcome their grief and pain, the memories of those fateful days keep recurring in fitful attacks.

      When 17 year old Denoy Francis, a lower sixth form student at Clarendon College said “later” to his father, little did he expect that would have been their last word exchanged.

      His father, Joslyn Francis, a police officer attached to the Chapelton Police Station in Clarendon, was shot and killed in May of last year in the neighbouring Cocoa Piece community, promptly after returning home from work at 11.00PM that night.

      Denoy explained that prior to his father’s death, they were home sharing a normal afternoon with his mother out grocery shopping. He remembered being warned by his father to complete all his assigned chores before his mother returned.

      “He told me to do the usual chores and then left for his 1′o clock shift in the afternoon,” Denoy said, still visibly shaken by the death of his father. 

      “I was home the following night just a build back, talking to a girl on the phone and thing, not even realizing that daddy hadn’t returned home, but when me brother called and somebody from foreign called mommy and asked what happened to daddy I realized that something was wrong,” he said.

      It was after this that he found out that his father was brutally murdered by unknown assailants as he walked home. He was shot twice in his head and once in his upper left arm.

      Denoy said that he was too overwhelmed by disbelief to cry, even as he looked on his father’s blood-stained and mutilated body lying lifeless to the ground.

      “Mi couldn’t cry. Mi did in a denial. A the next morning when everybody start bawl and thing that me eventually break down and then leave the house,” he said.

      He explained that his father could have been slain because the criminals wanted his gun or simply wanted to kill him for no apparent reason.

      While he defended his father’s honour, adding that he was nothing like the corrupt police officers today, he highlighted his discipline and hard work to maintain his family and to provide him with the educational opportunities that he never had.

      His mother’s reluctance to have him joins the police force and the untimely passing of his father has tainted his view of many people who are supposed to be upstanding citizens.

      He harshly reproached the corruption of many police officers for the proliferating crime rate. He lamented that though his father was “innocent,” working to build his own home, he became a stark victim of society’s heartless and atrocious doings.

      “He was a good man. Mi love daddy to mi heart,” he said, furthering explaining that his father was supposed to sojourn abroad last May for his leave.

      Each year as November 27, his father’s birthday approaches, the sad memories of how he died and the blissful past they shared dawn on him greatly.

      On his first birthday, following his death, Denoy recounted breaking down in despair and compelling himself to a state of denial to ease the pain. Even after constant relocations from their home in Cocoa Piece to Bushy Park May Pen, the memories still haunt him.

      The images of that dreary and sorrowful night, he said, seem to have gotten fiercer and more vivid each time he is sunken in a depressive mood.

      Having refused to seek counseling, Denoy said that he has fought to keep his mental framework strong to avoid the evil temptations that set in sporadically.

      “It nuh easy but mi know seh gun and drugs just ago complicate things even more,” he said, adding that anger wells inside his heart often times urging him to avenge his father’s killing. 

      It is the sloppiness of Jamaica’s judicial system that has made him even more irritated as he mulled over their ineptitude in apprehending and convicting the criminals. It is largely for this reason why he strongly supports the death penalty, wanting the criminals to feel the same pain that they have inflicted upon many innocent lives.

       While he is mostly schooled by the insurance grant provided by the government upon his father’s death, his mother who is chronically unemployed still experiences severe financial constraints.

      “Mi always tell her not to stress over money because that no going to help,” he said, further stating that he has had to provide a shoulder for mommy to lean on when things get really rough.

      He has two older brothers, one of whom is a police officer and the other a mere “ras on the corner,” he said. His two older sisters are living at home with him but neither of them has made any attempt to procure employment and assist with his schooling.

      “Only mi mother alone mi have. A she one since daddy dead,” he continued, declaring a deep sense of hopelessness that he constantly tries to rid himself of. 

      “Mi just expects anything bad to happen more time,” he broached, as waves of desolation twisted his face in a tight grimace.  

       With the topsy-turvy terrain that his life has taken on, it has been quite difficult to find a comfortable niche. He explained his deep distrust in human beings, which has led him to seek God during his darkest hours.

      He however, is still maintaining the faith and it is evident from his 8 distinctions in his Caribbean Secondary Examination Council (CSEC) examinations (English Language, English Literature, Physics, Biology, Information Technology, Technical Drawing and a credit for Chemistry), that his ambition of pursuing electrical engineering will be achieved and his mother’s dream house will eventually be supplied.

      At the school’s recent Prize Giving Ceremony he also received the James Gary Grant Award for excellence in technological science, along with the John Macmillan Award for the best CSEC results.

      His wish for Christmas would be to have his father back to make everything “nice,” but that cannot be granted he said so there is no point in keep on wishing.

      “Only daddy would make things nice but that not possible so…” he trailed off in a plaintive murmur.

      While many other youth like Denoy have succumbed to the ills of society he hasn’t and has pioneered amidst the odds to achieve tremendous excellence. His father may be dead but his dreams for betterment for he and his family are still alive and it is through education that the “trailer load a money,” that he chanted during our meeting, will be made possible.

      He encourages other youth, in similar position to be strong and follow the good that is in their mind.                             

By: Shawna Kay Williams

While many of our young people have resorted to a life of delinquency or have allowed their lives to become encumbered by the harsh social and economic difficulties abounding, one young lady from the rustic footings of Cave Valley St Ann has chosen another route.

      Being single-handedly raised by her mother Mauvalyn Marie Campbell, 19 year old Teisha Vaughn, an upper sixth form science student at Clarendon College, has never yielded to the daunting forces of hopelessness. In fact she, along with other members of her community, has been volunteering their time and efforts to the revamping of the once dormant Cave Valley community. With a creatively conceptualized scope of ideas, they have been eroding the dark times and igniting a renewed surge of light and excitement.

      She credits her deep sense of volunteerism to her mother who she emulates and loves dearly.  “I love mommy dearly. She is the strongest and most hardworking woman I know,” she declared, almost tearful with emotions.

      Recently with a concerted community effort they staged the inaugural Miss Cave Valley pageant show, which objectively helped to unearth the young community talents, through a creative and spirited ensemble.

       While Teisha refuses to be solely credited for the success of the talent show, she remarks on her personal desire to insurrect far-reaching and unifying community energy.

      “The competition was launched as a means of bringing back some “life” to our community and to simultaneously attract the interest of community members to the Cave Valley Youth Club. I also wanted to expose and capitalize on the remarkable talent and confidence of the young ladies in the community,” she proudly stated in a recent interview at the school.

      Like every production, the preparation process can be hectic and many times daunting but Teisha explained that the fervent support of the members of the Cave Valley Youth Club was unstinting and as a result the show could get on the road within 4 weeks of careful planning.

      “It (putting on the pageant show) was harder than we perceived. Initially, we thought that it would have been easy to get the young ladies in the community interested in competing but that proved rather difficult. Getting sponsorship for the show was another difficulty but in the end, with the combined effort of the club members, the event was a success.”

      She also listed several community business entities that provided sponsorship for the pageant. Some of these were the Cave Valley Wholesale and Liquor Store, H&M Cash and Carry and the B&B Variety Store, which though hesitant at first pulled through generously in the end.

      Although many criticized the attempts of the show, there were still many community members who expressed deep pleasure and satisfaction with its efforts. “The community members were very excited! The show was well-received with some amount of verve and after the show people kept querying about future shows,” she continued, beaming with a smile.

      With the pageant show at its conclusion for 2008, Teisha’s work towards community development is far from going on an interlude. She has still been hosting regular youth meetings and is currently working with a community nurse on a HIV/Sex Education Sensitization Campaign, which is to be launched shortly. “Well we are currently working with a nurse in a neighbouring community in conducting a HIV/AIDs sensitization campaign to debunk any myths as it regards to these sexual phenomena. This would begin next February.”

      While the support and boost are not always present during the pursuit of these activities, Teisha Vaughn is still riding the ebbing tidal waves and encourages other youth in their community to follow suit.“Don’t take anything for granted when planning any event. Trust me nothing is trivial. Be persistent and be confident that the event will be a success and believe me it will. Remember there is no room for diffidence.”

      While Teisha may seem consumed with various community projects, she still manages to strike the balance with her social and academic life. With already 3 distinctions and a credit in the 2008 sitting of the Caribbean Advance Proficiency Examination (CAPE), this inspiring young lady hopes to attend the University of Technology this September, to pursue her dreams of becoming a pediatrician and later open a bakery of her own as she enjoys baking.

      Her passion for pediatrics also stems from her love for children. She explained her deep pain and anger at the recent upsurge of violence against our children, vehemently lamenting “I am hurt. Many times I just break down in tears. The cruelty against our children is just unimaginable.” She therefore strongly recommends the adoption of the American child protection system, where most children are sent to the closet school and are brought to and from school by designated buses.

      As she continues to pursue her goals and realize greater leadership ambitions, the Violence Prevention Alliance wish for her all the very best. Kudos for a work well done! 

Cadets salute National Heroes

“Saluting our heritage. Building our nation,” was this year’s theme at the recently concluded Heritage Day celebration, held at Clarendon College, on Friday October 18, 2008.

With a melodious blend of music, trendy and creative dance moves and a raft of cultural and traditional displays, Stuart Hall was whirled in frenzy.

The celebration, which commenced promptly at 9:30AM, was hosted by Clarendon College Science teacher Miss Jackson, whose vivacious energy held the students in an exuberant trance.

The resonant and pulsating drumming of the Cadet Band was an overwhelming delight, as students graciously motioned to the rhythmic strokes soaring through the Hall. The inspection of the Cadets was refined, timely and refreshing as Jamaica’s seven national heroes became the focus of their salutation.

The school’s choir matched perfect timing, as they pumped up a harmonious beat with their folkloric medley. Their thrilling dramatics, with plaque cards and their decorated bandana attire, was an exquisite touch to the resounding vocal arrangement.

Jhanielle and Danielle followed the upbeat momentum, with a lustre rendition of Bob Marley’s “Redemption Song.”

By this, the students were feverish with enthusiasm and the stellar performance of the Folk Dance group, which showcased a blend of Indian and African dances, propelled the awe that swept all around.

Cassandra Prince came on in the midst of the reveling storm, belting out an ode to Jamaica’s first National Hero, the Rt. Excellent Marcus Mosiah Garvey. This was followed by the Latin Dance group, with their scintillating gyration to Shakeria “Hips don’t lie.”

George belts out a heritage song to our delight

A rambunctious acclamation echoed through the Hall and this was never to be subdued, as 2002 Gospel Festival winner and Clarendon College Design Arts teacher, George Gordon, who through a deft use of vocal variety and ingenuity, sung “Up ye mighty race.” He closed off his performance, much to the dismay of students, with “Come to Jamaica,” which highlighted the vast and intrinsic beauty of Jamaica land we love.

The rhythmic ascension propelled guest speaker, Mrs. Hazel Vaz, community development officer at the Jamaica Development Commission (JDC), on stage. She was accompanied by her two daughters, whose childish charm and talent awed the students, as they drummed a tribute to Jamaica’s only heroine, Nanny of the Maroons.

It was wild hysteria when students grappled to pronounce the many African words that Mrs. Vaz imparted. Students, however, continued to thrill their beings with “Mi come from Africa” and “Mandela,” obviously contracting Mrs. Vaz cheerful energy.

Her message, however, was never to be confused as she emphasized the cultural legacy of Africa and Jamaica. She repeatedly stressed the enormity of a woman’s worth and the power she possesses.

“Women, we are powerful,” she stated, before ascending into a musical salutation of powerful female figures, such as Rosa Parks, Harriet Tubman, Nanny and former prime minister, the Most Honourable Portia Simpson Miller.

Mrs. Vaz continued to urge students to embark on a route of change to overhaul the derelict state of Jamaica.

“It’s time to take the beam from your own eyes. Change comes with information. Change comes from within. Change starts with us,” she prodded, before echoing the Jamaican proverbs, “One one coco

It was a profound honour to be awarded the Most Outstanding Student in the Gleaner’s Go-local Net generation Competition 2008.

The competition has created an ideal avenue for youthful talents and expression in the creative art, photography and videography.

It has helped to spark tremendous zest and creativity among students, many of whom are curious about the technological realm and the offerings on the internet.

When my friend introduced me to the Information Technology Club at school and the upcoming competition, I shied away, not wanting to admit my sheer ignorance of computers. However, through fervent persuasion, tempered with my insatiable passion for writing, I availed my craft to the club and quickly became hyped up by the prospect of winning the competition.

I was always writing, more religiously during my second form year, when my Spanish and English teacher recognized my potential and spurred me on.

However, after entering the Radley Reid Founder’s Day Essay Competition in 2005 and emerging the winner, I embarked on a more serious pursuit of writing. I later won the Optimist Oratorical Competition in 2005, where I was awarded a trophy.

All these achievements simply bolstered my spirit and I just could not relent at investing and exploring more of the written art form.

For the Gleaner’s Go-local Competition 2008, I first published a report on our school’s Prize Giving Ceremony and a poem entitled “Reflection,” which lamented a vicarious rape experience.

Both pieces were met with an unexpectedly overwhelming reception from the judges and others who visited the website. I was highly boasted and felt more confident as I continued to write and expel my imaginations.

Writing was always a kind of therapeutic outlet for me. It helped to stimulate my mental sense, while luring me into a state of blissful relaxation.

However, I later discovered that it could also be used as a vocal instrument, which could give voice to the voiceless and hope to those were suppressed and oppressed.

This was the inspiration behind “Ghetto Story,” which narrated the experience of a juvenile delinquent, downtrodden and wounded by the abandonment of his father.

However, through the remarkable publicity of the story, he was offered assistance and encouragement to desist from his misdeeds.

From “Ghetto Story,” I continued to write other compelling pieces. From “Passa Passa,” to other narrative stories and poems,

It was this same zeal for writing that I bought to the Jamaica Observer TEENage Magazine, where I quickly adopted the art of writing for the media and worked my way up to becoming the Deputy Quarterly Editor.

I am currently anticipating my sojourn aboard, which I received as part of the Gleaner’s award. I am hoping to travel to Curacao in December with my teacher Miss Pryce.

I am really hoping that it will be an awesomely exhilarating experience, especially since I have never traveled before and I will be celebrating my 18^th birthday then!

I really want to applaud the Gleaner Company and the other sponsors for investing in such a tremendous competition. It has afforded me a host of phenomenal opportunities, which have propelled me to unthinkable heights. Continue to create avenues, such as these, to unearth Jamaica’s richest talents. I feel bountifully blessed!

To all the schools that will be competing this year, use this competition to channel your creativity and perhaps discover those hidden talents. It’s very much possible to emerge triumphant and earn yourself and your school creditable acclaim. God bless!

By:  Shawna Kay Williams

With already 730 children kidnapped since the start of the year, many of them possibly raped and murdered, I have been helplessly reduced to a state of paranoia.

At my 17 years, of what should be “youthful exuberance,” I am forsaken with deep worry for my safety and that of my 12 year old sister and 8 year old brother, who form the formidable forces in my life.

At nights, I shiver with cold fear, despite the warmth of a comforter. Nightmares of dying have never relented at attacking me nights upon end. Like the plagued Israelites, I am now a fragile and frightened child, waiting on our Father in Heaven, to send us that Moses, who will lead us across this bloody Red Sea, which is soon to drown us.

The warped cultural ideas that we have fostered for years, are quickly leading to our own demise. We have never ceased to avenge the alms of evil and to withhold information that could lead to the apprehension of the criminals, many of whom dine with us daily.

Indeed, my Jamaicans, we are allowing ourselves to sink deeper into a manually carved abyss of depravity. We have become infected with the disease of our own selfishness and wickedness and now we are being hunted and eaten alive.

With globalization fiercely encroaching, we are doomed to wither to dead strands. It is not the economic strangulation that will stifle us, but our division as a nation. We have become ripped apart by our own hostile and avaricious plots.

We are no longer “out of many one people,” but out of many one evil we emerge as our own monsters.

I beg every Jamaican, this very moment, to listen to the cry of an innocent 17 year old child, who is solemnly depressed with the decadent state of our country. Jamaicans, stop being hypocrites, I beg you. Stop celebrating us, the children, when you are raping and murdering us daily. Stop harbouring the criminals among you. Speak up, speak out and don’t be afraid.

“Together we all can be strong, through love we can make right all the things that divide us.” Today, let love, peace and unity reign forever and let us vow to preserve our dear Jamaica land of beauty and let us turn to our Heavenly Father above and serve him faithfully. God

bless you!

I am etc.

Shawna Kay Williams

shawna201@gmail.com

Clarendon College

To The Editor Sir:

For years, my entire being has been thrilled by the pulsating rhythm of dancehall music. The lyrical ingenuity and charm displayed by artiste, such as Ninja Man and Spragga Benz, have always held me spellbound. However, with the contemporary evolvement of dancehall music, I am left grappling to understand the genesis of my admiration.

During my formative years, there were a few dancehall songs that reeked with sexual derogatives but the lyrics were so carefully crafted that my innocence and that of many other children around me was never imperiled.

I sang without even knowing what I was singing. I danced to the rhythm and I enjoyed myself as I literally wondered on the “cock” eating out the “salt fish.”

Most of the dancehall music I hear today, lack the lyrical depth and creativity it had, and only seeks to promulgate the “daggering” acts of the bedroom, while degrading the sanity of women.

Sadly enough, a lot of our females have continued to gyrate rather shamelessly to these same lyrics that have helped to slander them as mere “gals” and sexual gadgets.

I can understand that music is reflective of our life and the things happening around us, but why every time I tune in to the radio there is a lyrical barrage of sex and violence? Isn’t there anything positive happening around us? At least, can the negatives be channeled into something positive and inspiring? Why do we continue to valorize the grim, dark image of our society?

I think that many of us have failed to realize that music doesn’t just exist in rhythm and words, but it has the power to transcend our thoughts, whether consciously or subconsciously, into the good, the bad or the ugly. Why do you think most of our young minds behave the way they do? What do you think influences the torrid sexual acts among us? Where do you think the so-called cool “gangsta” image comes from?

Certainly, dancehall is not the sole force driving our society to a wreck, but its impact is way greater than it is perceived.

I am therefore urging all dancehall artistes to refrain from the “slackness” for a change. Yes, it is the sex that sells, quite sadly, but cleaner and more creative lyrics will garner a more appreciative listenership.

Remember your own child each time you write a song. Remember the impact that it will have. Remember Jamaica land we love and nuh bodda wid the eediat thing!

I am etc.

Shawna Kay Williams

shawna201@gmail.com

Clarendon College

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