Historiography of Western Jamaica

It was never intended for us to see wickedness so plain and a prance and dance outta road, but it was always there. From the time when parents or neighbors influence their child fe tek people pickney book and pencils bring come give dem fe go obeah man. When we enemies mix we up and tell lies on us, it was wickedness but it was at arm's length. When men who fathered children past them in the street, a child, his own their own flesh and blood with no regard as if the child was a stranger., we talk over it and shot the deadbeat father a disgusted glare. Men who go their entire lives knowing a child is theirs and never once acknowledged or support their offspring. That was wickedness... but only to eyes that saw deeper. In those times we had respite, off days where we could rest as needed, we could make a heartfelt sigh. Now we are engulfed by it everywhere we go-and it's no longer trivial. It's an endless stream of malignant indifference, touting of cruelty and wickedness. Every turn. Every day. Every other moment. Our psyches weren't designed for this. Our souls weren't destined to swim in these icy, shark-infested waters with no shore in sight. We were never meant to see the curtain pulled back this far, to witness with this much clarity-what has always lurked. To think I wrote and amended this post because I've been reading on the internet this morning. How the nine year old (special needs) child found killed in the car in Mobay might have been a contract killing. Shake my head. We are actually putting hits on special needs children now. There are actually people out there who would kill an autistic child? The curtain draw right dung now. Yanked right down.