Authors: Jayne Olorunda
Chapter Fifty Two
I began to notice that Mum was growing tired, more tired than I had ever seen, weariness was etched on her face. We had been in Belfast now for almost three years and moved five times. In the background there was positive news that the peace process had begun. The news that peace had been delivered was broken to Mum and I by a jubilant crowds in a chemist shop. She was collecting her prescription when the hugging and celebrating began. We asked them what the occasion was. We were told we had peace; Northern Ireland was at peace at last.
“Well it's come too late for us,” Mum said, but her voice was drowned out by their cries of jubilation.
Having had no success in North Belfast we moved back to South Belfast, the rents were considerably higher but at least the areas were mixed. None of us could stand living in one sided areas. More to the point the last few years proved that these areas couldn't stand us either. So to cope with the rents Mum took on even more hours and now worked a 72 hour week. Alison handed over large portions of her pay to help out, I remember feeling so guilty that my Mum and sister were paying such a high price to live in this area. Together they paid so much that ironically Mum in particular worked so much that she never saw our house.
I was doing my A- Levels at the time, I remember the days passing in a whirl of essays and exams. The only real thing that stands out for me during those years was meeting Mum on her way home from work one day. She had left me a fiver to get some provisions after school, which I had done so I took my little dog to the park. The dog became over excited and ran off and then I noticed that she was running in the direction of someone in the distance, as I got closer I saw it was Mum. She looked all done in but I remember she smiled pleased to see me and my crazy dog. I remember remarking what she was doing walking; she normally caught the bus or got a lift. She muttered something about it being a lovely sunny day. We began to walk home together when I noticed that Mum wasn't keeping up, she was a good six steps behind. I looked at her puzzled saying “get a move on” when my eyes were drawn down.
Mum's heels were bleeding, her red blood a stark contrast against her white nurses shoes.
“Mum what happened?” I asked
Then it occurred to me, before she could even answer I said.
“Please don't tell me you walked,” I said.
“Okay I won't,” she laughed.
Mum had given me her last that morning, she had known she couldn't make it home from work yet she said nothing. Instead she walked all the way from just off the Newtwonards Road to the Lisburn Road. I felt so consumed with guilt and anger that I felt physically sick.
I was lost for words and she and I made our way home in silence.
Luckily Mum soon found another nursing home nearby, it was during her time working there that she once again came home worse for wear. It transpired that a colleague approached her and told her that a younger nurse working there was also from Strabane. Apparently she had been talking about Mum.
It took a while for me to extract the full story but it seemed that the younger nurse took great delight in telling all Mum's colleagues that Gabrielle horror
of horrors
had three black daughters. She took great delight in running my sisters and I down it seemed. The nurse was snobbish and spoke of her background as if she stemmed directly from royalty. Mum just couldn't work out who she was. The country girl in Mum came out, as her small town habits came to the fore. Hailing from a small town everyone knew everyone or they knew someone who knew someone. Yet Mum could not place her.
It was only when she discovered that she was married, that things began to click. Mum had been trying to establish exactly who she was using her married name, no wonder all her leads ended nowhere. As soon as she discovered her maiden name she established exactly who she was. Mum also learned exactly what she had been saying about our family. She looked down on us and Mum in particular all because we were black. Now that Mum knew who she was however, it wasn't long until she turned the tables. This nurse, this snobbish creature had been the offspring of one of the town's most working class families; in fact working class was too high a title, rather than coming from great things Mum claimed that this girl had come from the gutter.
When Mum revealed the younger girls true background and her surprise at her newly acquired plumy tones, the rumours soon stopped. Yet Mum was horrified that people felt that because she had black daughters that she and by default we were someone to be looked down upon. The staff were supportive and told her to take it with a pinch of salt. Even though Mum had felt she had brought an end to the situation and that it wouldn't happen again I remember feeling awful, I was so upset that someone could talk about my Mum like that.
All because of us once again I felt so guilty and ill, my very being was causing all this distress.
After hearing Mum's experience it was reinforced to me that racism was everywhere and I think Mum realised that it was something she would always have to cope with. Times may have moved on but it seemed opinions hadn't moved forward. Just because my Mum had married the man that she loved and had his children she would forever be tarred. Mum had done nothing but follow her heart I still fail to understand how that was so wrong. Even years later, people still believed that Mum was guilty of a heinous crime. My Mum would always be punished for falling in love.
I think that incident where Mum was made to feel bad about meeting and marrying my Dad was when his box that she had tucked far away in her mind, began to rumble. She would voice more often that she wanted him here so much. If he were here she wouldn't be in this mean place, she wouldn't have to listen to such remarks, to be judged. My parents could have faced these people together. If my Dad were here, my sisters and I wouldn't have needed our incessant questions. If Dad were here Misery and Mum would never have been acquainted.
Chapter Fifty Three
My sisters left home around this time. Alison was the first to leave. Maxine was the next to fly the nest; she had been in the city centre one day when someone asked her the question that my sisters and I were often asked,
“Where are you from?”
“Belfast, then Strabane, and then Belfast again!” she had replied.
“But where were you from before that?”
“The only other place I've lived in was Strabane,” she had said.
“Aye, but where were you born?”
“Belfast,” she replied,
The woman had laughed asking her what age she was, when Maxine told her she was 20, the woman had responded,
“People like you aren't born here; there was no one like you here 20 years ago.”
That week she had a few more racist jibes and came home in tears.
“Mum I can't listen to these people anymore; they won't allow me to say I'm from here,” she said.
She had no answer for her.
Two months later my sister and my best friend moved to London. She said she would never be back. To date bar one special occasion she has kept her promise.
Mum was growing more and more tired, losing two of her daughters did not help. Once again we were falling behind on the bills, I did my best to pay them but AâLevels took priority. I offered and begged to leave school, but Mum insisted that my Dad would have wanted me to stay on. She was determined to do right by us both. Then a rent increase left us in severe trouble. Our cupboards held half a bag of sugar and a tin of beans. After my previous bout with eating disorders I wasn't a big eater, nor was Mum but we were so hungry a tin of beans would barely take the edge of it.
Mum was working so hard that on the face of it we should have been surviving, holding things together but all the moving took its toll, each new house we got required some sort of furniture, some sort of improvement whether it was furnished or not. Each house required a removal van for our personal effects (we had no car), and most expensive of all each house required a month's rent in advance and a deposit. We never saw our deposits again there was always an excuse for not fulfilling them. We grew tired of filling other peoples oil tanks, carpeting their floors, painting their walls and carrying out repairs that were not our duty to do. Eventually we were spent out; we were left with the choice pay the rent or eat.
For the first month after the rent increase, we choose to pay the rent. That month I remember being poorer than ever before and knowing no solution. Once again I would plead with Mum to leave school and get a job but she always steadfastly refused. My Dad wanted us to have an education, she would never force one on us like his parents did, but when one of us was interested she would never and could never take that option from us. If she made me give up on my university dream she would have failed me and more importantly my Dad's wishes. We made a loaf of bread last for a week and raised £1, which we used to buy a bag of potatoes.
When I peeled the first potato I discovered it was off; I had inkling when a rancid odour wafted my way when I opened the bag. I bundled the bag up, receipt in hand and went to the shop keeper who I had bought them from barley five minutes earlier. He had told me he hadn't sold me those. I pointed out to him that he had, showing him the pile I had gotten them from and he chased me away.
“You blacks are always trying to take the hand,” he shouted. We did without our potatoes that week and had thrown away our precious pound.
Chapter Fifty Four
I had always aspired to go off to university and would turn 18 soon. It would nearly be time for my compensation payment awarded to me by the state on Dad's death. Mum and I were in a mess so I promised her that whatever funds the state had awarded would be used to help us out. Our spirits were lifted as we knew we only had to endure this situation for a few more months.
It was during this time that Mum received a call from home, her father had become unwell. He would be treated in Belvoir hospital in Belfast. She was able to see him every day as he was being treated in the city. The nurse in Mum had seen his diagnosis many times before and therefore knew his prognosis was not good. Her father had lung cancer. He deteriorated quickly, it was so, so sad. Her father loved a yarn, he would talk to whoever would listen yet he was left with a disease that took away his breath, it had rendered him speechless.
It wasn't long before we received another call; her father who had returned back to his home town in a break from treatment, had taken a turn for the worst. Mum had to get to the hospital in Derry that night. Yet we had no funds. We had nothing and no one to ask. Mum called the hospital in Derry and asked them to phone her with any news, if he got worse or if he became stable. That night my Mum received a call with bad news. I watched as Mum sunk to the floor, she remained there for many hours. My grandfather's funeral was a sombre affair. My mother was heartbroken. She carried the memory of her father, the other great man in her life, with her daily.
Chapter Fifty Five
Mum must have gone to work and listened to her colleagues' talk of holidays, socialising and nights out as I do now. Even if they spoke of something as basic as shopping, she must have felt about an inch high. She had an empty cupboard, empty wardrobe and empty stomach. For the pleasure of living in South Belfast, the only place we were
allowed
to live, the rent was strangling us. At the end of that month she asked me not to pay the rent. Instead she said we would phone the landlord and tell him we were struggling, he seemed an affable man. Maybe we could arrange some sort of repayment plan with him. We would buy some food, even get an outfit each and have a nice day out. That's what we did and again on the next month and the next.
Therefore our eviction came as no surprise; once again we began a search for another house. This time we were back at the mercy of the council. They found us a house on Belfast's Ormeau road, and we tried our best to make a home of it. Unfortunately we faced the usual dilemma; we had no money and no furniture. Privately renting didn't allow us to accumulate furniture as the landlords used their own. The house had recently been renovated, bare walls and cement floors were its main features. For the first few months we slept on bundles of the few clothes we had.
Then at last my money came through and like my sisters before me Mum expressed her disappointment. In her grief stricken state 16 years earlier she had trusted the state to invest the money awarded on the death of our Dad with care. Since mine had been held the longest, Mum assumed that I would attain a good sum. Instead I received £150 more than Maxine, who received £150 more than Alison. My sisters and I began 16 years ago with £2000 each and we all finished with just under £5000.
Yet neither Mum nor I were in a position to complain, how we needed that money. To me it seemed liked millions! I had hoped to attend Trinity University to study Law if my A level results were good enough and intended this money to fund my studies. I had second thoughts when I compared what I received with the price of a degree in Dublin. Instead I decided that I would spend my university years here in Belfast and stay at home to save funds.
Mum admits now that inside she seethed. My Dad had considered education his top priority. Mum couldn't help she could barely support us as it was. Had my Dad been alive I knew I could have attended ten universities fully funded if it meant I was pursuing an education. The box marked Max in Mum's head had begun to rumble again and she could feel her old friend Misery approach. This time I believe she struggled to push her aside.
Chapter Fifty Six
The TV was now full of news about the victims of the troubles; I watched keenly and thought that maybe we would be okay after all. There were over three thousand victims and something was to be put in place to help them. Maybe these new incentives could help Mum? I thanked the heavens, Mum had shouldered too much alone. The new Labour government with the bright young Tony Blair at the helm was forward thinking and committed to devolving the country. It seemed we would get some sort of recognition for those who had been lost.
Mum and I didn't get time to dwell on the news as yet again we had another house to furnish and fix. Mum had to do this between her long shifts and me between AâLevel revision. I wondered where we would get the time. With my money we did what we could with the house and created a comfortable home.
By some miracle I got the grades in my A- Levels I needed to attend the Law course in Trinity, Mum was so proud, she said Dad would have been too. Mum cried that day, although she was elated she was saddened too because my Dad wasn't there. In the end the Trinity course was too expensive and that was before we had even looked into Dublin accommodation. Mum and I agreed that Queen's was a good choice and that a university was a university.
I started Queen's in September 1997, as I hadn't applied there for law I couldn't study law that year and would have to wait for the following year's intake. One year seemed so long to my 18 year old self, so I got a place reading my next favourite subject; History. Mum was still working away and a routine was gradually taking shape.
I had started a part time job in Mum's nursing home and was enjoying a social life, frequenting the âBot' and the âEgg' like my parents many years before. I was enjoying my freedom, alcohol and men and more than anything being open about my smoking hobby which I had managed to conceal for years! An announcement over a family dinner one evening made things even better. Alison declared she had something to say and hushed us all before she said,
“Mum I'm pregnant”
It was like music to Mum's ears; she loved children and was excited already. She must have been like my Dad on hearing the news of his daughter's conception all those years ago. It wasn't until a day or so later that realisation struck Mum. It is a true to say that for Mum every silver lining has a cloud, and this new sure had a cloud; for she would be a granny!
“Surely I'm too young for that?” she exclaimed!
On a sadder note she said she had not imagined facing the news of her first grandchild alone and thought wistfully of how my Dad would have reacted to his daughter's announcement. She only hoped he was looking down on Alison and making sure that everything to do with this little one was as it should be.
Nine months later I sat (admittedly slightly hung-over) in the Royal Hospital in Belfast and waited as Mum's first granddaughter and my niece came into the world. Maxine had come over from London especially for the occasion. I remember the combination of the previous night's drink and the idea of childbirth made me feel positively green, I was disgusted by the whole thing. Yet Mum was overjoyed, she was so happy, we were all happy that day and that was all that mattered.
On the September 6 1998, my niece Sarah-Jayne was born. She was a beautiful baby; if you liked that sort of thing that was! Mum said she reminded her so much of her little ones when we were at that stage.
To me Sarah-Jayne was a strange little thing, she was white and on checking her little fingers as Mum had told us to do with all mixed race children, no pigmentation existed. It seemed she would stay white. Sarah-Jayne had a head full of black hair and a little African nose. She reminded Mum of Alison and of course her grandfather. It was then that it really struck Mum that this child would never know her grandfather. Mum's shelf began to shake a little more furiously than usual. Yet she ignored the tremors and told her doctor of them. Once again her drugs were upped and her shelf was stabilised. Now Mum had a new reason for living; her little granddaughter.
Mum spent all her free time with Sarah Jayne. Mum really could not get enough of this little girl. Mum loved her as much as she loved her own and discovered that a grandchild was just another child to worry about. For me it was great that Mum had something more in her life, she deserved some joy and Sarah-Jayne brought it to her by the bucketful.
That winter was a lovely one, the new baby injecting some sparkle into our dull world. She brought so much laughter into our house that we spent that Christmas smiling and for once filled with hope. .
Instead we concentrated on immediate concerns such as the need for a bigger home given that Alison and Sarah-Jayne were about more often. As Sarah-Jayne grew she took to calling Mum granny Bumba, she couldn't pronounce Olorunda no matter how hard she tired. I couldn't really blame her as most adults I met couldn't. The name stuck and for a while Mum became known to us all as Granny Bumba.
If Sarah-Jayne needed anything or if Mum was mentioned in a conversation with Sarah-Jayne, she was referred to as Granny Bumba. I would hear her ask for Granny Bumba every day and found amusement in how such a little child could change the name that my Mum had been known by for fifty years.
It didn't take long to find a house to hold us all and one that we could afford. This house was again in North Belfast in a pleasant little road called Alliance Avenue. It didn't need much more than a few coats of paint. We moved in and made it our home. We seemed to settle in well, that was until that summer when riots broke out. I had never seen riots before and it seemed that all hell had been unleashed. The world's media descended at the top of our street. They watched crowds of men, women and in many cases children fighting bitter battles. Every night, Catholics faced Protestants and fought across a peace wall. Our side of the wall was on the Catholic side. It was just our luck that the wall that divided the two communities was right behind our house.
Each night fell petrol bombs were launched over our house; we crammed into a room in the middle to avoid being struck and to drown out the voices of the angry mob.
One night they needed to get through our row of houses to the other side,
“Go through the Nigger's house,” they cried.
We were terrified not to mention shocked, when we first moved there the community boasted of its anti-racist attitude, the poor Catholics faced similar plights and claimed to empathise with the many black communities around the world. I lost count of how many taxi drivers and locals told us we would be perfectly safe here. That was until their true opinions emerged, as my Mum always maintained scratch the surface and you'll find a bigot. In times of tension in Northern Ireland this surface was well and truly scratched. For once Mum had nothing to say instead of taking her usual stance and defending us she passed out. I think her shelf rumbled more than ever before shaking her to the core.
We moved from that house within a week, losing confidence in our homeland and another deposit in the process and I believe a large chunk of Mum. I graduated during these years gaining a 2:1, Mum was proud but she cried on the news because Dad wouldn't be there to hear. We made a decision then that due to his absence we would miss the graduation and have a quiet family dinner instead.