“I think, at a child’s birth, if a mother could ask a fairy godmother to endow it with the most useful gift, that gift should be curiosity.” ~ Eleanor Roosevelt.

My father was a planner.  Before he moved his family (wife and five children of whom I was the youngest) and all of their worldly goods half way across the world from the UK to Jamaica to take up a position as minister of three churches, and chaplain (and part-time teacher) at the local high school, he corresponded with several ministers in Jamaica.  He wanted to be sure he was adequately prepared for life in Jamaica.  This was in 1963, so communication was by snail mail, and because my mother believed in saving all of my father’s correspondence (including drafts of his letters) I was able to see some of this correspondence more than 50 years later.

At that time the ministers of the Jamaican Congregational Church were a mix of British (White) and ‘native’ (Black).  My father corresponded with ministers of both ethnicities, and the racism of the day was obvious.  One (White) minister tried to prepare him for the congregation he would encounter in the country church he was traveling to.  Unlike the writer’s congregation which was comprised of professionals, my father would have a congregation filled with simple farmers, mostly uneducated people.  He further suggested that it would be best if my father left his three teenage daughters (my older sisters) at boarding school in the UK, since they would not be able to make any friends at the high school in Chapelton, the rural town we were moving to.  Apparently, my brother and I being younger would be ok! 

Fortunately for us my father ignored that advice.  Apart from the fact that he could not afford boarding school, his family was part of his ministry, wrote my father, and he would not consider leaving anyone behind.  My sisters not only made friends, we also informally adopted one who became family, and have maintained contact with many more.  We were all the richer for our immersion in the life, culture and social fabric of Jamaica. 

I was recently honored to be the guest speaker at a 50-year event, celebrating a group of nurses who graduated from the Kingston School of Nursing in 1975.  Preparing for the speech took me down memory lane.  Although I went to school in England after graduating from high school in Jamaica, the Jamaican system of nurse ‘training’ at the time was very similar to the British.  At the reunion, the MC went around the room soliciting memories from various of the graduates (none of whom looked old enough to have graduated in 1975!) and it was clear from the stories that we had experiences in common both in and out of the wards.  I guess we could call them hijinks, as some of the stories involved climbing over fences after curfew or stealing food from the kitchen.  I could recall similar stories from my nurses’ residence, although I don’t remember us having a curfew! 

In a more private conversation, one of the guests spoke of the founding of the Jamaica Nurses Association in South Florida, and mentioned that life had not always been easy for those who emigrated and worked in South Florida. Which reminded me of my early days working at a large hospital over on the beach.  It was where I received my first healthcare culture shock, when I was told in orientation that the hospital was a private, not-for-profit entity.  I put my hand up, curious. What did they mean, not-for-profit?  How could a hospital be for profit?  That’s sick! How could people want to make a profit out of people being sick? I was gently laughed at, as they explained that yes, Virginia, in the U.S.A. it is not illegal to make money out of sick people.  And from the pills they need to stay healthy.  And the diagnostics needed to determine if they are well.  That was almost 47 years ago, and it still seems sick to me. 

But as I learned to function within the healthcare system, I would meet up with Jamaican nurses, and we would share experiences of our attempts to adjust.  I soon realized that the world was not level.  As a new graduate, with no experience (I had migrated to Miami shortly after completing nursing school, so my Miami Beach job was my first as a qualified registered nurse) I was given a full-time job in the new building, on a floor where there were often private patients (remember those?).  I learned that this was considered a premium floor to work on, in those days the patients were not that sick, in fact, work up and procedures that are now done out-patient would be done over three or four days of an inpatient stay, back in the day.

My Jamaican friends however, despite being midwives, and having years of experience, would not be given jobs in their preferred areas.  They would be placed in the old building, on floors where the work was much heavier (like orthopedics), and would have to work nights, while awaiting an opening on their preferred floor.  My ‘white privilege’ had ensured that I was treated better.

As we see steps being taken to erode the progress made for all members of this society, when DEI policies and practices are being dismantled, it is easy to forget why policies had to put in place to protect against discrimination.  This week we saw an embarrassing display as high-ranking members of the U.S. military gathered from around the world to be lectured about the new ‘warrior ethos’ and the anti-woke agenda.  One of the items discussed was about grooming, ‘no more beardos’ he said.  It is important to understand what this means for men of color, and a condition known as pseudofolliculitis barbae.  When men with tightly curled hair shave closely and frequently, they run the risk of developing ingrown hairs, which can then become inflamed and (worst case scenario) infected.  In the military, this condition could lead to a shaving waiver and medical treatment for the condition.  So when the new grooming guidelines are put into effect, what happens to those who cannot comply?

When I see the world from one (Eurocentric) perspective, I am ignoring the lived experience of millions of the human race.  I recently read a novel written by an African American classical musician.  The protagonist was told by his grandmother: you have to work twice as hard and be twice as good as any white musician.  This is the reality for most people of color who live in a white dominated society, in whatever field they are in.  We don’t have to look too far.  If Obama had done even one percent of the things our current president has done (nepotism, cronyism, corrupt business deals, ‘drug boat’ strikes and so much more), he would have been impeached. 

For us to understand each other, we have to be curious.  History books, novels, documentaries, all can give us insight into the lives of those who don’t look like us.  A Haitian documentary maker has recently made a documentary about George Orwell and his famous novel, 1984.  It is not widely available, but it looks as if it should be mandatory for all of us to watch. 

Last week I saw a meme on social media that was alleged to be a quote by Pablo Picasso.  With the increased intervention of AI in our social media feeds, I decided to research further before I shared the meme.  I found that it was not clear that Picasso had ever said this, and I found an even better version that was said by David Viscott: The purpose of life is to discover your gift.  The work of life is to develop it. The meaning of life is to give your gift away. 

This Friday morning, I hope you have found your gift!  I have been blessed to have been given this forum on which to share stories that I hope can inform, entertain and educate.

Have a wonderful weekend, Family!

One Love!

Namaste.