My mother had a habit of making homes out of places she was never welcomed. She had lived on this island for all 46 years of her life, yet she had never found a home for herself. She lived on top of the hills in Campbell where she could hear the children scream from the streets below. When she went to Salisbury and she walked the dirt paths up the hills that made her hands seem cracked and brittle like dried up clay, she decided to call it home. She lived in Bath Estate for many years before leaving and then living there for many more. She taught me about pretty yellow and orange flowers that her grandmother grew. Her grandmother is dead now and she apparently took those flowers with her. Before my mother lived in quiet Pointe Michel, she visited loud Pointe Michel to see her sister. Then the loud became the quiet and it was unsettling. But not to her. She decided to call it home. Another house on a hill. I don't think I ever understood my mother's fascination with living on hills, she is terrified of heights after all.
The thing is though, my mother has not found her home and I guess she passed it on to me. I don't know where to call home. To me, home was that house in Bath Estate with a blue door and windows we wiped down and draped in Christmas lights. To me, home was that house in Campbell where I piled into a bed with my sisters. Those homes didn't last too long because now I live in this house on a hill that overlooks the sea.
Most nights the crashing waves keep me awake, actually, that could just be the anxiety. The amount of green that surrounds me is unsettling. Most days it feels as if my brown skin will just allow me to fade into the wilderness with all the dull colours. Most days the house on the hill suffocates me.
The house next door isn't there anymore. There was a hurricane that caused it to topple so the once yellow house feels like a figment of my imagination. The throne where it sat is overgrown with the green that will eat me alive. I am terrified to walk over there past the rotting wooden fence in case a snake bites me.
My mother has forever been able to make a home out of the places she has been no matter how short. She has been able to plant roots like the pink rose bushes she planted out by the concrete wall. My mother never taught me to put down roots. Instead, I float in the wind and it feels as if the waves will drag me away.
-Maisha E
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