Khaylia Brown
Hello there beautiful reader! I am Khaylia Brown, a little church girl that resides in the ‘country’. I’m a university student whose major is Plant Biology and minor, Creative writing. I am an active reader, praise dancer, and poetry is my new found talent. This course is a stepping stone towards receiving my minor, hence, my participation in it. However, I’ve gotten to love the discussions surrounding media combined with writing. My hope is that upon the end of this course I’ll be able to critically analyze various media forms as well as be more ‘in-touch’ with them.
Jamaica’s Most Vulnerable
What is sexual abuse? https://youtu.be/STyNOVjgxcM
Statistics showed that one in 9 girls and one in 53 boys under the age of eighteen are sexually abused by adults. (RAINN, 2021)
Due to this plague, I think that children are Jamaica’s most vulnerable group. It’s not only because of their age, rather their minds and their bodies. Children are sometimes classified as, “young minds of the future”, this may suggest that the future of Jamaica is in jeopardy as it relates to children suffering from sexual abuse. Their minds are the primary factor that contribute to mental health problems, that is, an unhealthy mind is equivalent to an unhealthy mental state.
Often times sexually abused children are bound to silence in an effort to reduce further harm from their perpetrators.
Could this be the start of major mental health issues in Jamaica?
What you May Or May Not Know
Is it enough to only recognize little girls as the victims?
In our culture it is seen as a part of “growing up”, a “goal” or a “prize” when young males are sexually exposed to adult women. However, this may be the start of their mental issues, that is, they may choose to hide what has happened to avoid humiliation from family members and friends. They may even dictate the story in such a way that they may not be seen as ‘weak’. I think we should do better for our future law makers, nurses, doctor etc. There is a popular proverb in Jamaica that says,” fi avoid the germs, boil the water”, it means that if an individual wants to avoid negative results, they should stray from all possible scenarios that would enhance that outcome. Let us start treating traumas from a tender age to prevent the loss of lives in the future.
I have a few suggestions that each individual can do to help remedy this problem:(NSPCC, n.d.)
- Listen– it is such a simple word, yet few persons can master it. Sometimes children victims just want a listening ear, it goes a long way.
- Do not ignore– Parents or guardians can easily fall into the act of neglecting their own children because they ignore things that are taking place in hindsight. When things seem to be suspicious or doesn’t ‘add-up’-keep a keen eye. Ignoring is not the answer especially when it involves your child or younger relative.
- Believe– If your child or someone you know shares their abusive experience with you, please don’t turn your back on them! Believe that what they are saying is true and act on it.
- Do not turn a ‘blind-eye’: It is against the law to condone in child abuse; even if you are not the perpetrator but knows about it and keeps it a secret, you are participating by turning a blind eye.
- Report it– If you know someone that is going through this, please report it. Don’t wait until it is too late. Ensure that you report it to someone trustworthy.
“I am weary of all our sad stories—not hearing them, but that we have these stories to tell, that there are so many.”
Roxane Gay
Advocate
Follow Along!
Interviewer(Khaylia Brown): So, good morning. What is your name?
Mrs. Surmuda: Barbara Dias-Surmuda−Mrs. Barbara Surmuda.
Interviewer: Alright Mistress−What do you think about child sexual abuse in Jamaica?
Mrs. Surmuda: Being very honest…it is out of control and it is not right, because when you think of the way they−they do the children and after they have…ahmm sexual abuse with them and tings like that−
Interviewer: Mmm
Mrs.Surmuda: it lef an impact on the child−
Interviewer: Yeah
Mrs.Surmuda: after a while…it leave an impact and sometimes the counselling cannot help. Yuh undastand?
Interviewer: Yeah, I understand−
Mrs. Surmuda: But I−what I’m saying is as a parent, I have two boys and I don’t have a girl but I’m saying that if you have a girl and you have a boy as a child and they are being abused, sometimes you can see the sign−
Interviewer: Yes−
Mrs. Surmuda: We have to look for the sign that the child is withdrawing and if somebody come at the yard, and you said, “oh go greet uncle!” and you see dem withdraw−
Interviewer: Yeah
Mrs. Surmuda: You don’t push them and tell them go and do that, nooo. It is so wrong−
Interviewer: Yes
Mrs. Surmuda: Sometimes the worst part about the most…the worst part about this thing is it’s family, the nearest, good friends−
Interviewer:Yes−
Mrs.Surmuda: The person who you truss, yuh understand−
Interviewer: That is so true−
Mrs. Surmuda: An I think the government need to do something…set some more−something restricted−
Interviewer: Like some barriers?
Mrs. Surmuda: Yes! They need to do something strict with it!
Interviewer: I agree.
Mrs. Surmuda: Because when you do that to a child, basically a 10 year old am not gonna find a 5−a 10 year old−
Interviewer: Mhmm
Mrs. Surmuda: You don’t know the impact on her, you mash up har womb and everything. I don’t think…it is so mind blowing. And some of them the parents is so sick−
Interviewer: Yeah
Mrs. Surmuda: after hearing what happen and they get through to it and then you have−hear di worst part a everything; when you go to court−
Interviewer: Yes
Mrs. Surmuda: after dem hold the person−
Interviewer: Yes−
Mrs: Surmuda: they have to go back through that whole ordeal…
Interviewer: That long process again−
Mrs: Surmuda: again- this government need these crime things fi just do like a day and it sone. This one year, two year thing−
Interviewer: Yes−
Mrs. Surmuda: that they are drawing out with it,it is not right.
Interviewer: It is not.
Mrs. Surmuda: And it leaving a whole heep of impact on the child.
Interviewer: So what do you think about their, like…mental health?
Mrs Surmuda: Yes! Mental health is what is the next thing.
Interviewer: Mhmm
Mrs. Surmuda: Listen, when you reach certain age like basically 21, 22, 30 and they are ready for a relationship−
Interviewer: Mhmm-
Mrs.Surmuda: they are afraid!
Interviewer: Because of past hurt?
Mrs. Surmuda: Because of past hurt! You understand.
Interviewer: Yes
Mrs. Surmuda: It just coming like a woman in a relationship whether she married or not, the husband beat har, baby-father beat har and then it end up him gone bout him business with somebody else. This young lady is not going to take up anybody else back−
Interviewer: Yes
Mrs. Surmuda: and that’s the same thing with the child abuse-
Interviewer: Mhmm
Mrs. Surmuda: the child will withdraw from the young men and likkle boy dem in class. And they are wondering, why is she drawing away from the young boy in class. So you’re playing a ring game and you put har hand in the likkle boy’s hand-
Interviewer: Mhmm
Mrs. Surmuda: No! she will draw away. Call har one-side and make a time or a date as a teacher…cause teachers are counsellors enuh, mothers are counsellors and sisters are counsellors.
Interviewer: Yes
Mrs. Surmuda: Even fathers if you can find them. But when dem at school and dem withdraw like that, tek a time and talk with her…talk with her. Because sometimes is all food dem want and anna di food mek dem get weh dem get.
Interviewer: Yeah…But what about like…yuh nuh some parents that don’t believe their children?−
Mrs. Surmuda: That is the next thing, when they don’t believe that is when it continue on and on and on…til she end up reaching certain age then she pregnant. She go beat har say she pregnant but he wasn’t listening to her from it was young and just continuing. Now those parents are to be charged.
Interviewer: Yeah
Mrs. Surmuda: I believe the government fi charge dem too!
Interviewer: I think so too
Mrs. Surmuda: just like how dem lock up di pickney dem inna house and gone a dance and gone down the road and dem bun up…charge dem!
Interviewer: Yeah, so they need to be more responsible−
Mrs. Surmuda: More responsible! If you have a child you’re supposed to be responsible for the child until they can be responsible for themself. Because as big as you are you can have problems, you can have school problem, you have friends at school pressuring you-
Interviewer: Yeah
Mrs. Surmuda: your lecturer pressuring you.
Interviewer: And that causes mental health issues as well…
Mrs. Surmuda: Yes! you have the time wen you can go to the bus stop and the boys dem say, “come inna di car, come inna di car, come inna di car”.
Interviewer: Yes, I’ve experienced that
Mrs. Surmuda: So you kind of withdraw and say, let me stand up and see if wah car a come. It’s the same thing as sexxual abuse with young children.
Interviewer: Yeah
Mrs. Surmuda: And it’s not right! And it’s not only with girls: boys and girls-
The End of this Synopsis
My Thoughts
Mrs. Surmuda spoke facts! She made sure that she interlaced both genders and might I also add that sexual abuse is not defined by gender, race or even status. I felt totally captured by all her points about parents being held responsible and possible effects of this action. She could be an advocate for children…or maybe she’s already transformed to an advocate by voicing her opinions on the subject. What do you think?
Through the eyes of a survivor https://youtu.be/5viOYkM4CRE
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I Know Why You Stopped Smiling
by Khaylia Brown
I miss your smile, the one that exploded across your face when you heard the ice-cream man’s horn, peep-peeeeep. Your eyes danced with white youth, yellow happiness, a reflection of the evening sky.
Then your smile started to fade, especially when he came around. When he sat beside your mom around the dining table you clasped your hands between trembling legs, kept your head down, and your mouth chewed as if you were eating dirt, but it too disappeared just like your smile.
I miss your smile, but I cannot tell you to try it again, or say “sorry” for that is a cliché. You would not have accepted it and I don’t blame you. I don’t blame you for crying at nights in your fluffy pillows. I don’t blame you for neglecting his apology. His half-ass apology, stained with promise for another time. He will do it again.
He will step into your room like the devil, looking for what’s not his. You told me you thought it was a dream, but your body felt the intrusion when you turned on your bed. You felt his hands spread across your legs, slowly, at a steady pace, to your vagina. His hands clamped your mouth shut− to stifle your cry; you almost died. I almost lost you.
In the morning glow you stretched for courage, and you held it while you told your mother the truth. That almost killed you too. She turned her back on you, went to him for his side of the story and held on to it. He smiled− it was cunning, stretched from ear to ear, yellow teeth glistened in the light− it couldn’t compare to yours before this darkness arrived. Tobacco was stink on his breath, but your mother clung to his left arm. The perfect couple leading the best family, free from sin. I miss your smile, today mostly; you would have turned eighteen, but I lost you.
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Guilty
By Khaylia Brown
In primary school the teacher parted the class in two, boys on the left and girls on the right. Miss stared at the girls with bulging eyes, her words pierced the classroom’s atmosphere, “you are young ladies; you should not go the bathroom alone”, why? “don’t wear uniforms above the knee, mek it long ketch yuh ankle”, why?; “when you sit on the chairs remember to close your legs, the rest of the class shouldn’t be tortured by your Hello Kitty underwear; don’t provoke the boys; when you sit down and open to the world, dem will look and touch; it’s your fault, you left the kitchen window wide open”.
So, when I reached home the practice followed, my knees clasped together like hands, skirt tucked deep between. It didn’t stop me from being breached; he pried my legs open like a window; “don’t tell anybody, not even your mother; matter-of-fact tell her because she won’t believe you”. Then he said, mi sorry, it nah happen again; that was the best lie I’ve known. It happened again, again and again. I sucked in my cries most of the time, forged lies to my mother when I sat down and cringed, or made an ugly face. I believed him, I believed the lie, but I felt like I was suffocating from this torture.
Dolly house with my friends turned into confession sessions, we took turns sharing what we thought was a special secret; I shared mine because I felt it was one of a kind; he touched me enuh,, last night; he thought I was sleeping but I stopped sleeping at nights; I’m too afraid of the monster in my house, mi get used to it now. My friends turned messenger overnight and transferred all that was said to my mother, she believed and sought after the truth. I felt like I was in a courtroom with him acting as the victim; the jury was set; when all was said they declared me guilty, and said it was my fault.
Hunger
by Roxanne Gay
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Little Ida
I watched as my neighbour carried a red bath pan
under the big mango tree in his backyard
and quenched its thirst with water.
Ms. Mary stumbled on the steps with her little Ida.
Bathe har fimi nuh, the child grabbed her mother’s
black nighty.
Randy’s fingers clenched her thin red dress
and pulled it over her head−slowly,
leaving her naked body exposed like a mango seed
without hair.
He rubbed her body with a rag that slipped
from his fingers and soapy rainwater,
fingers that pinched her pink fruit without
Ms. Mary’s knowing.
She bit her bottom lip when he dried
between her legs with the towel.
He whispered in her ears, she stepped out
of the path pan and his hand slapped her bottom.
Ida jumped; eyes widened like a deer,
she ran inside the board house, her mother
appeared, yuh tek long fi bathe har today
Randy smiled, cyah rush certain things.
Khaylia Brown
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Stepfather
I turned to the corner-side of my bed in hopes
of changing the plot of my story.
I shut my legs like doors, and covered
them under my thin blue sheet.
I woke up to callused fingers on my legs,
moving as if they were playing a piano solo.
My eyes opened to blackness and absence
of sound, even the crickets have lost
their rhythm as they bowed their heads
in condolence.
Amidst the serenity, my legs were opened
to him, to enter as he pleased.
His crusty skin, rubbed and pushed,
leaving indents on the inside of my vagina.
My teeth clenched, as I took the assault
from skilled fingers from a man
my mother married.
Skilled enough to remove the pink,
and white Hello Barbie panty
without a string of light,
and I understood grandma’s
words, practice mek perfect.
It’s his nightly ritual.
When the sun pierced through the glass
window, there was no evidence of the night’s
sin, only throbbing remembrance
between my thighs and the twist of my lips
as I say, good morning to him.
He’s the ultimate devil−a father
to my brother; mere family relations.
And a blind black mother.
Khaylia Brown
Sylvia Wynter's Dream 