Because He’s Good to Me by Jasmine Campbell
Sweet mango seeds and mesmerizing palm trees, a breathtaking country indeed. Jamaica is a land of not only adventure, but getaways, and I say that with a double meaning. All is well and beautiful unless you’re in the ghetto, where evil lurks as a pretty smile. Sadly, this is where I reside. My name is Amina. Old Harbour was the place to be when we were young. Water fights and fairs. We had not a worry in the world. You didn’t get killed unless you were a bad person, but that has all gone to the dogs. I turned 17 not too long ago and my parents are already forcing me to take on their religion. Might I say being Muslim in Jamaica is not the safest nor easiest. They want me to be modest but I want to wear basketball shorts and be comfortable in my own skin. A pretty mini dress would be nice too, but that is not my reality. “In the criminal justice system, sexually-based offenses are considered especially heinous.” Jamaica has no special victims unit, so THIS is my story. Mommy: “Mina, you’re 17 now. I know you want to be ‘normal,’ but it’s not in your blood to be, baby.” Amina, angrily: “Why can’t you two love me the way I am?! How can you grow and carry a person for nine months, hear their heartbeat and not protect them?” Mommy: “We never said we didn’t lo-” Amina: “Save it! If modest is what you want, then modest you will get. When I turn 18 you two will never have to worry about your embarrassment of a daughter.” Dad: “AMINA!” Mommy: “Winston, please don’t, let her calm down.” Dad, sighs: “What are we going to do with that girl?” And playing their game is exactly what I did. So that night I told myself that I hated them and after my 18th birthday I’d never return. Half of that was true. I had terrible dreams. An Ol’ Higue, a witch known to feed on the blood of children, appeared to me one night. The old witch looked gristly and grotesque, matted snow white hair and dark skin tinted green. She glared at me with pitiless arachnid-like 278
