A Pronouncement

“So what would you like to do ultimately?” I was asked this question a few weeks ago by a colleague and without thinking too hard, I said: “Get married!” And then I said: “But don’t tell my Beloved.” “Then, finally be a Campus Minister and use my degree.” And then doubt possessed me and I…

On the Business of Choosing Dears II

Read Part 1 here Sister Avery must have done her research or at least talked to my dorm mates. I glanced at Wynie to see if she’d betray Sister Avery’s snooping. She was too busy licking her fingers, slowly melting the piece of chocolate she had popped into her mouth, waiting for the fruit-filled center…

Two Weeks In

I just arrived at the Arawak Beach Inn, a little beach house past Island Harbor, to work because it was on the list of places with reasonable food prices. Sadly, they charge for internet so I am debating if it’s worth it for me to work here. It could be good practise for discipline in…

On the Business of Choosing Dears

It started when she claimed me as her Dear from among the entire first year class. I was excited. Her reputation preceded her. I knew who she was because all the lower formers had been talking about Sister Avery. She was tall, standing at 6’2” a head and half taller than most of her classmates, and weighed in…

My Heart is Smiling (P.S. I Love You)

“My heart’s never smiled so hard, baby; loving you is fun!” (Easton Corbin) This phrase from a country song (surprise! surprise!), reminds me of the numerous conversations David and I used to have. Often we would text: “my heart is smiling/laughing.” Or the question: “do you still have butterflies?” Answer: “of course! And I hope…

Kokrobite (Part II)

“Hi. I’m Kuukua and this is my sister May.” I said, choosing to use Etornam’s English name. I knew mine was already complicated enough. “I’m Mary. What did you say your name was?” A nod here, a barely acknowledged glance there. I repeated my name several more times. I kept my polite Ghanaian smile up….

Kokrobite (Part I)

I had never been to Kokrobite. Rumors had it that was where the pot-heads hung out. It was where Rasta and beach-bums and their “cool” wannabes went. Where the local women went to snag white men and vice-versa. Where locals knew to leave well enough alone.  My respectable-catholic-school-girl-gig didn’t go such places even when I…