O•S•C•A•R© Fida's Pizza Changes Hands - Old Ottawa South

Page 40 The OSCAR - OUR 37 th YEAR MAY 2010
Tasty Tidbits From Trillium Bakery
Pearls of the Antilles Part 3
By Jocelyn LeRoy
Cont’d from April OSCAR....
Doctors diagnosed a host of ills and
“conditions.” Dentists proclaimed
there would be no teeth because of the
malnutrition.
They grew beautiful teeth.
Most of their health concerns
righted themselves after a year
or two of good medical care, nutritious
food and lots of love. That being said,
the road ahead was not always smooth.
A deep trauma from early childhood and
serious deprivation leaves scars beneath
the surface. These scars require years
of patient love and the hard work of
overcoming.
There is no map for this journey.
As they gained strength physically,
the long walk to school became
something the younger sisters wanted
more than anything else. Finally, I let
them walk with their brother and sister.
I rode circles on my bicycle. far behind.
What I saw became a daily routine,
requiring double the time of a leisurely
walk to school.
After a few blocks they would
stop to play. Then they’d take off their
thin jackets, hang them on shrubs on
someone’s front lawn, and sit down
for a little rest. Sometimes they had a
nice nap on the soft green grass. Their
brother tried hard to bestir them, pulling
at them, “Hurry up. The bell’s going to
ring.”
Neighbours called me saying “Your
daughters are asleep on my lawn” or
“Your daughters left their hats and
Little Sister with her husband, adopted daughter (l), and
two daughters.
sweaters on my forsythia bush.”
They were not strong enough for
a full day at school, but were strong
enough to nearly bring the house down
with their protests at being left behind
(staying home one or two days for rest
and treatment).
Then came a solution that was just
perfect.
The kindergarten teacher, who to
this day I credit for probably the most
valuable school year of their lives, said,
“Just let them come into my class.”
She taught most of the year with
one or both on her lap. She let them
sleep when they needed to. She put
them in the “dolly corner” every day for
some “free play.” They always lined up
the dolls, and any other children who
ventured into the pretend kitchen, and
pretend fed them.
Always feeding them, wrapping
them up in blankets. Other children
Big Sister with her son
acted out some of their home dramas
(spanking dolls and yelling at them,
rocking them, throwing them around),
but our Haitian girls seriously made
sure all got enough to eat. They brought
plastic plates with orange blocks on
them (mango, sweet potato), batons
(sugar cane) and imaginary cups of
coffee. They were well acquainted with
brown drinks (rum, coffee, polluted
water.)
At home our whole family had quite
unconsciously developed a hybrid kind
of language. There were stares in the
grocery store while we were shopping,
with four loquacious children helping
to fill the shopping cart. First try was
always Creole. When at a loss for the
right word, a French word worked fine.
If no one could find the correct French
or Creole word, English did the trick.
We all understood each other perfectly.
No one else did.
We tried to hang on to the Haitian
songs and language by inviting all our
Haitian acquaintances to our home to
speak Creole. The girls’ interest in that
waned, as all the fun in the street and
schoolyard called to them. Car trips
became a good excuse for us all to sing,
including the songs we brought from
Haiti. Eventually, they too fell by the
wayside.
But not everything did. Aha!
The rice and beans, “malangues and
chadek,” remained favourite foods
for years. Our girls were never picky
eaters, except for an extreme aversion
to oatmeal – we never found out the
reason.
For a long time, whenever I opened
a desk drawer, or fluffed up the sofa
cushions after they’d been jumped on, I
would find pieces of bread, a carrot and
slices of apple, hidden in the drawer or
behind the cushions. Food, just in case.
School was a challenge after
that first excellent year. The tests
that determined which “stream” was
suited for my girls were so culturally
biased it was impossible to gain a true
Cont’d on next page