Sometime ago: I sped past the two elderly ladies, without as much as a glance their way. They stared after me in surprise. I usually stopped to chat or help them with their bags. Not today I thought as I bound the stairs in twos. The elevator could not run fast enough for me, at least not as I expected. And I was not sprinting for a spot in the Olympic games. I was just hungry...
Prologue: I lay in the hospital bed writhing in excruciating pain. I had vomited for the umpteenth time. My stomach felt hollow and dry. All the acidic reflux from the bile gave me hiccups which in turn gave me a splitting headache. I was ready to die now. But then again I was ready to die everyday. At twelve years old, my life had become an ironic joke. The first born child, longingly awaited and loving cherished by a sweet married couple until death came knocking in the name of cancer. Now I was dying of hunger and my father owned a successful fleet of medical facilities. I guess wonders will never cease indeed.
The nurse came into the room to re-adjust the intravenous medication. She smiled empathetically. There were a pool of tears forming in her eyes which she struggled to hide from me. But I saw them and I knew that she knew. They all knew. How do you tell your boss, that one day he might come home and find his daughter dead. He had done everything logic he knew to do, to protect his girl. But he could not be every where at every time. He was just a man.
Besides, the girl was not much of a tell-tale. Some day she would talk, but today she will be quiet and imagine it happened differently. Those that attempted to talk in the past, were framed, maligned and eventually fired. So out of respect and love for my father and fear of retaliation from the abuser, they just did the best to make me comfortable and happy. Happy??? That word was annoying and foreign to me then.
So here I was in a private room in my daddy's hospital. I was being treated for a severe case of stomach ulcer. Ulcer that was caused by irregular eating habits. Irregular because sometimes my plate of food was no where to be found or non existent. And other times? Well, I did not bother anymore. And yet I would look from the window of my bedroom into the adjoining storage room filled with every manner of food and provisions and wonder why. There was plenty to spare. If my daddy was the bread winner and he loved me and he wanted me with him! Then what could have been the problem? Oh people, please feed the hungry for goodness sake, even if you don't like them!
Fast-Forward NYC: Mission-Trip to Eastern Europe to help in an orphanage: The organizing gnomes did not like me at all. I was either too tall, too cute, and/or too vibrant. Always something. But I was not spending my money to watch their sullen faces or soothe their preconceived notions. I was eager to go and help those kids. Though I was predisposed to wealth unlike the orphans, I lacked just like they (orphans) did or maybe even worse. So I was so excited about this volunteer mission trip . But as always, certain authority gathered nonetheless to torture me. They sneered and snickered behind fake hugs and smiles. " She thinks she is on the fashion runway". they complained.
Twenty-hours later, half-way around the world, a group of about 300 people including me made that trip. ONLY my luggage was missing. It was thrown aside and never checked in, even though I had paid my fare like most. My medication and 'survival food' were in that bag!! Once again my life and well-being was jeopardized. By a bunch of insecure, vicious, manipulating, controlling power-players. Who felt that this young black African girl should not have the nerve to be anything but a 'lobotomized' slave. They would teach me a lesson, because they had the right connections. They were racially and financially connected. Coincidence? That was what I thought at the time...
I told you I was a survivor. A victorious one too! :). Excuse me while I run, I think I hear a goat bleating.
