In the Cubby Hole

In the Cubby Hole
Little did I know upon first hearing of this avenue that it was a part of an infamous ‘ghetto’. The name sounded so regal, so prestigious, so sophisticated, but it seemed, as far as the outside world was concerned, that it was about as much sophistication as this avenue had. Precariously situated on the outskirts of the Caribbean’s premier University and connected via some back roads to the heart of the ‘real Jungle 12’, I wondered what life would be like here. I remember clearly, the first time I told my co-workers that I would be moving here. They seemed uncertain, but tried to reassure me that the avenue was not as bad as the place with only one entrance…the same as the exit. I was duly cautioned by many, not to walk the streets at night. How was I to cope, a free spirit like me who enjoyed the cool night air walks that have many times cleared and stabilized my mind and emotions? Everybody it seemed was puzzled to why I was moving here. Why I would leave the comfort of the other side with its upper middle class grandeur to go live on the avenue. I remember the first cab driver to move my things. As we were ready to descend the hill at the New Testament church, he said, “I see… we’re going down into the cubby hole.” I asked why he called it the cubby hole. He said, “Don’t you see we’re going down? Once you start going down, you’re heading into a cubby hole.” Before we got to the house I received more cautions from the taxi driver not to go anywhere at nights unless I was taking a cab. “Call a taxi!”, he said. “Betta you spend di likkle money cause a you life.” I remember that first day very well. I remember the hurry in which I packed my things, how I desperately wanted to go someplace new to get away from the familiar, to turn a new leaf. I remember wondering where and how on earth I had ended up with all this stuff, a single person with no dependents. I remember thinking how on earth am I going to move all this stuff out of the van and up to my flat. I remember how quickly my silent prayer for help was answered when before the vehicle even came fully to a stop a throng of persons, around 7-8 appeared and started grabbing my stuff and hauling it inside and up the stairs. It all happened so fast, at one point I spun around and managed to glimpse a little girl no more than four toting my pillow and folded blanket up the stairs. I remember being in total shock and pinching myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming or in a movie and that I was actually in Jam down. When it was all over, they didn’t even stick around for compensation, ‘nice to meet you, good bye’ they said, and went along their merry way, all smiles. I had just met the welcoming committee. This is when I started to think that maybe, just maybe, the avenue is not quite what people think it is and that maybe life is quite different here in the cubby hole.