VISIBLE/INVISIBLE BUT INCONVENIENT BOUNDARIES

As a boy in attendance at The Titchfield Secondary School in Spanish Town, Saint Catherine, Jamaica, West Indies. I was forced to learn some Painful lessons about invisible boundaries. Some boys were skirmishing on the porch immediately outside the woodwork classroom. I was a mere bystander but the woodwork master was irritated, exited his room, and administered some justice to all of the boys in that vicinity. His cane fell mercilessly on my back. As it justly did on the backs of all the instigators. But I was extremely angry as a result of this perceived injustice. I couldn’t have been more than nine years of age at the time, but immediately retaliated by cursing him profusely. He became angry at my outburst of disrespect. When I saw the visible rage on his face I attempted to flee. Running as fast as I could from the scene. But he dispatched some bigger boys after me. They soon outran me, arrested me, and brought me back to the porch to face the woodwork master’s justice (?). At that moment of reckoning, he accused me of cursing him and gave me a firm whipping for my disrespect. I shed many tears in my apparent grief, but I learned not to verbally abuse people, bigger and far more powerful than myself.

There are many visible boundaries in this world of ours. Some of them are as plain as the typical concrete walls surrounding the environs of many private properties. Some property owners, where I reside in Ghana. Even mount metal struts on top of their walls and intertwined within these struts are sharp razor wires. Others assume that such measures are inadequate. Also placing live electrical, uninsulated wires. Above the extremely sharp and polished large steel razors. To visibly discourage any overconfident thief or robber from brazenly attempting a breach. There aren’t any NO TRESPASSING SIGNS on full display. The visible obstacles forbidding such a possibility are unmistakable. Most sensible malefactors, upon witnessing such pernicious displays of wealth and power. Tend to avoid the seemingly overwhelming odds and move on to more vulnerable victims. There are also invisible boundaries in this life. Clearly hidden from being seen by the naked human eye. Any violation of such boundaries, however. Ends nevertheless in equally catastrophic consequences. A friend of mine shared with me one of his experiences. Through which he had passed in his teenage years. He and two companions of his. Trespassed on private property to steal some mangoes from a heavily laden East Indian Mango Tree.

Once they got close enough to within 40 feet of the fruit tree. He observed that there was a tall muscular man, holding the leashes of two large German Shepherd guard dogs, immediately beneath the branches of the tree. He stopped exactly where he was and began to describe to his two companions what he was witnessing. “What are you talking about?” They demanded. He said to them, “Look beneath the branches of the East Indian Mango Tree. There is a man and two guard dogs standing there.” They saw nothing but by then they were perturbed. Because they knew from Jamaican folklore that not everyone is capable of seeing events transpire within the supernatural world. What he, clearly saw, they were obviously completely incapable of seeing. They clearly understood that fact. By then, however, he became increasingly overwhelmed by a sense of imminent danger and he started to run away from the tree and off of the property. His companions saw nothing. They heard his words, saw his actions, and emulated his example. If any of them had dared to violate that boundary. He would have had to suffer some debilitating physical disability of pay with his life.         

Previous to being matriculated at that much larger school. I was in attendance at a private elementary school and my grandaunt paid a school fee, on my behalf, of one shilling per week. Since Jamaica was at that time one of the colonies of the far-flung British Empire. One shilling then was one-twentieth of a British Pound. It was a small school with many students. I really don’t recall learning anything there. Although there must have been organized instruction periods in a variety of classrooms. The Head Mistress was a highly respected member of the local church I attended. The only anxiety I experienced while enrolled as a student there. Was the continuous harassment and bullying, to which I was being subjected by her son, Burt. Why was he always picking on me I frequently wondered? Was it because he was much bigger? Or was I just a convenient target selected by him, since I kept to my seemingly unimportant self, and wasn’t fawning over him. I went to his mother on at least two occasions to warn her of his obnoxious conduct. But all to no avail.

One fateful and very hot afternoon, Burt came into the classroom and saw me. Maybe desiring to show me just how big and important he was, he grabbed me, and despite the fact that I warned him repeatedly, to “Let me go.” He would not desist. He turned me upside down and shook me violently. Until I was almost completely dislodged from my short khaki pants. After some minutes of brutal provocation and my screaming, he finally released me. What an almost fatal mistake, on his part? When I finally got back on my feet, my rage knew no bounds! All I wanted was maximum vengeance! Although I was much smaller and younger than he was, I felt that every fiber of my being had been heinously violated. Suddenly, another spirit took possession of me. My speech became symbolic and apocalyptic. My own voice could no longer be heard. Instead, the roar of a lion proceeded from my vocal cords. “I told you to leave me alone; I told you to leave me alone; I told you to leave me alone. What’s the problem, can’t you hear? Those were the words I kept repeating. The aggressor and his companions were now paralyzed with fear. Seemingly immobilized by what now sounded like the growls of a ferocious and dangerous predator. Like sitting ducks, they cringed against the opposite wall, facing me.

They all knew instinctively that sudden calamity was about to descend upon that scene. I calmly scaled the room for an appropriate weapon of destruction. Lying on a nearby desk was a broken slate. All fear and self-control had abandoned me! All rational thinking had fled my mind! I grabbed that weapon, aimed at his head, and released it with all the power in my right arm. The missile sped unerringly to its appointed target and collided with the middle of his forehead, piercing it, just as I had intended. The next thing I knew, blood covered the face of Mrs. Reece’s uncontrollable son. The merciless and cruel victimizer was now the victim! Several years later I came to the realization that I had been sent to that school to execute God’s vengeance. For the many tears of helpless children that Burt Reece had caused to be shed. Fortunately for the perpetrator, however, was the fact that God’s vengeance had been mingled with mercy.

Someone went up the lane and summoned my grandaunt, to probably come and calm me down. Since Burt Reece and his partners in crime, rapidly absented themselves from the space surrounding me. Because they were all terrified of what I might do next in my moment of fierce and uncontrollable passion. By the time my aunt Sarah arrived, only a few moments later. I was silent and as calm as the Pacific because my rage had been spent. She demanded to know what had happened to cause such a violent outburst on my part. The rationalizations, fabrications, and outright lies started to fly, but none of them stuck with me. Not even for a moment. Because she already knew exactly who I was at home. A humble and submissive child, and as gentle as a lamb. But as the saying goes, “Still waters run deep.” A cousin of Burt Reece’s, Joy Scott, who thirty years ago was employed as a journalist at The Jamaica Daily News. Claimed that all Burt did was touch me and that his one gentle touch provoked me to violence. In response to this very obvious and completely irrational fib. My grand aunt interjected, “Speak the truth and speak it ever, cost it what it will. For he who hides the wrong, he did. Did the wrong thing still.” Nevertheless, she gave me what appeared to be a flogging. But it was all empty symbolism. I felt nothing as the gentle blows fell across my back. Because I wasn’t supposed to feel anything.

(TO BE CONTINUED).