An Experience with a Statue!

Decades ago, when I was still in my single-digit years, I visited a sick family member at St. Ann’s Bay Hospital. It was my first time traveling to that side of the beautiful garden parish. Back then, my world was small as I only went from school to home to church. Whenever there were school trips, I would stand at my gate and watch two big buses packed with children and their parents heading toward popular attractions. Jealousy would course through my veins as I watched them with their bags, ready to “hit the road.” I used to conclude that my parents simply couldn’t afford those trips, and I believed the children who went were privileged or even “rich.”

Because I spent most of my childhood going from one wood to another, Cedar Valley to Aboukir Wood, many things were foreign to me. I learned about some of them in school, but the lived experience was completely different. That difference became clear on the day I visited St. Ann’s Bay. After spending some time at the hospital, it was time to head home. To do so, we had to walk down to the town to catch a bus heading toward Brown’s Town. Owning a vehicle in those days was a luxury; only the wealthy had access to such convenience.

While walking to the bus stop, I noticed a tall elderly man standing on a mound with a baton in his hand. Instantly, fear gripped me. I knew I hadn’t wronged him, so I couldn’t understand why he would raise his arm at me with a baton as if to strike. Before I could make sense of it, panic took over, and I ran. Someone nearby asked why I was running like that, and after catching my breath, I explained what I had seen but her response shocked me.

She told me it was a statue, not a real person. It was the Christopher Columbus statue. I was in awe and a little embarrassed, when she explained it. All along, I thought the statue was about to hit me with the baton. That was why I had started running and ducking, convinced I was escaping danger. Well, I hope she didn’t laugh too much or think I was silly. I was only a little girl seeing a statue for the first time. It looked like it was throwing something, and I believed it with my whole heart. But now when I look at it, it doesn’t seem to be doing that at all. Maybe my little mind played tricks on me. Or maybe, just maybe, the statue “changed” when I grew up.