I came to write ‘How the One-Armed Sister Sweeps Her House’ at the urging of a voice on the bus. At the time, I was on the 472 bus to Thamesmead, on the last leg of the long commute back home from Brixton in London, where I (then) worked for a refugee charity.
I was exhausted that night on the bus, and didn't particularly feel like listening to anyone, but Lala sat inside my head and started to talk to me, anyway.
As I learnt during the course of the remaining 45 minutes of that bus-ride, Lala, like me, was from Barbados, like me she was a mother, like me she was the ‘one’ of the estimated one in three women worldwide who experience domestic violence at the hands of an intimate partner and endure a cycle of running and return as a result. These facts, in themselves, did not make her remarkable, what made her remarkable was her resilience, her calm quiet, the halting, almost apologetic way in which she spoke, as if she knew I was tired but could not leave me alone unless she was sure that I’d heard her, that I understood and accepted what she was asking me to do.
What she was asking me to do was write her story.
Domestic violence, and especially violence against women, is a continuing social problem in the Caribbean. The UN High Commissioner for Human Rights, Navi Pillay, in a statement at the end of her visit to Barbados in April, 2012 1 said
“Domestic violence against women and children, and sexual harassment, occur all over the world. However, reports suggest that they are particularly serious problems here in Barbados and in other Caribbean countries, and rape is shockingly commonplace…”
Ingrained social attitudes to gender and power contribute to a culture of silence about domestic violence in the Caribbean. The physical abuse of women was traditionally (and to an extent remains) an accepted part of local culture – widely practiced but rarely talked about. I had always been aware of women within my family who were being abused – the wife of a beloved uncle, for example, who was reportedly regularly beaten with the butt of a gun. In whispered conversations I wasn’t supposed to overhear, female relatives chastised her for her sullen demeanour and her feisty retorts to a husband whose demanding work hours made his meanness understandable, her inability to submit less so.
At the same time, the Caribbean is the exotic paradise of postcards, a place of pink powdery beaches and clear blue water. It occurred to me that the paradise of the affluent tourist was simply a backdrop for the horror suffered by some of the women who served them daily. A paradisical beach became the setting for Lala’s story to be told.
When I got off the bus, and home, I wrote as I always do, longhand, from the first line of the last page of a ring bound red Royal Mail notebook, writing towards the front. This became a ritual I repeated for several nights, through several drafts, droughts of inspiration, crises of conscience and the glitter of other, less wrenching writing projects. Through it all, Lala would talk to me. Until one day, somewhere around the end of the the third draft, she fell silent.
Much as I’ve listened for her I’ve never heard from Lala again. I do not know whether she is dead or alive now, whether she is still haunted by a gruesome murder on a beach in Paradise. I am not aware of whether she still bears the scars she has told me about or whether a rusty-haired rasta called Tone has managed to meet her again, whether his love has made her forget how she got those scars.
I wish the best for Lala, but I understand that her silence does not matter now. Only the story needs to speak.
There was just one thing Lala asked me on that bus, and that was if I could write the part of her story she had told me about- that one summer in 1984 when her life changed forever.
How the One-Armed Sister Sweeps Her House is my first novel. It is a work of fiction – and it is also my way in which I answered 'yes'.
How the One-Armed Sister Sweeps Her House by Cherie Jones (Published Headline Publishing) Out Now
In Baxter's Beach, Barbados, Lala's grandmother Wilma tells the story of the one-armed sister, a cautionary tale about what happens to girls who disobey their mothers. For Wilma, it's the story of a wilful adventurer, who ignores the warnings of those around her, and suffers as a result. When Lala grows up, she sees it offers hope - of life after losing a baby in the most terrible of circumstances and marrying the wrong man. And Mira Whalen? It's about keeping alive, trying to make sense of the fact that her husband has been murdered, and she didn't get the chance to tell him that she loved him after all.
More information about the author can be found here and you can follow her on Twitter at @csajthewriter.
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