Our children are being lost

I have been told by my ten-year-old, and others, that I’m really “farse”. I, however, prefer to call it observant. After all, it’s what I get paid to be, right? Even when I’m off the clock, I’m not off duty because I still pay close attention to the people and things going on around me and ask questions when necessary – something that drives my son crazy. “You know, not everything that goes on at school is your business,” I often get when grilling him about his day. But as I always tell him, his business is my business, and as long as he attends that school, whatever goes on there while he is on the compound is my business. He got a nice little reminder of that when I confronted him about ducking his after-school pan class two Fridays ago, when he opted to play marble pitch with his friends instead. “How did you find out? You really farse dred!”

As a journalist I’m required to always be on the lookout for a story. As a parent, I’m always required to be looking out for my child, and it is the one of the many responsibilities handed to me by life that I take the most seriously. From time to time I find it necessary to extend that responsibility to children who are not biologically mine, within and without the parameters of my ‘village’. I’m not claiming to be Super Mom or anything, on the contrary. But the way I see it, this world has become too crazy not to make ourselves ours and other people’s children’s keepers.

I live in a very quiet neighbourhood, so sound carries long and loud. And because I work from home most days, things rarely happen in my neighbourhood of which I’m unaware. On any given day, while I sit typing away at my computer, I can tell when a child has been kept home from school, and at whose house the garbage truck has stopped to pick up their refuse. I know when Mr Jacob is leaving for work and which one of his vehicles he is using just by the sound of it. I can tell when Mr Baksh is leaving for and returning from running errands, and I know when the Reyes’ pool is being cleaned, because they are all familiar sounds. The moment alien sounds, people and activities disturb the familiar hum of my community my observation antennas go up. I don’t consider myself a nosey neighbour, and I don’t get into people’s business, but if someone or something seemingly compromises the safety of my neighbourhood, I will raise an alarm, even if it turns out to be a false alarm. Everyone may not appreciate it, but I’m certain the young women who were recently rescued from alleged sex slave rings in different areas of TT would have, as the family of Akeil Chambers would have over 20 year ago. Chambers, then 11, was found at the bottom of a pool at a house in Haleland Park, Maraval.

“The anus was patulous and the anal canal was very lax. I concluded from the findings that the child had been subjected over a long period to repeated sexual intercourse through the anus. I cannot say when was the last time there was sexual intercourse. I didn’t take any swabs from the anal canal to look for any spermatozoa," one of the pathologists, Dr Neville Jankey, who had conducted one of two autopsies on Chambers' body had said. This particular case stuck with me because I had covered the inquest into his death, when then chief magistrate Sherman McNicolls, as coroner, had ruled on February 18, 2004, he was satisfied the teenager's drowning during a pool party at the house was not accidental.

My son and the children within my circle all know they can get anything from me, once it is not harmful to them and it is within my power to give it to them. But they also know that I will not hesitate to hover when I have to, most times to their chagrin. The parents in my community who know me know that once their children are in the vicinity of my house, they are being closely watched. Not watched in the sense that it hampers their play, because I don’t get involved when they fight, fall down and skin their knees, climb trees and jump over drains. But watched in the sense that it is near impossible for one of them to go missing without a trace, accidentally set someone’s house on fire, or seriously injure themselves with sharp, dangerous objects, like say a sharp knife.

The children with whom my son interacts at his many extracurricular activities "suffer" the same fate, because I am not about seeing children putting themselves in harm’s way and not saying anything to them because their parents may not like it. I would much rather take a sound cussing from a parent than allow a child to plunge headlong to a serious injury or even their death from the top of the pavilion at the tennis court.

I’ve said all this to say that our children, as annoying and frustrating as they can be at times, are being lost at an alarming rate. Lost to crime, lost to drugs, lost to sexual predators, all of which can most times be avoided with a vigilant eye, with a gentle or sometimes stern word, guidance and mentoring, a little extra push, a good helping of tolerance and understanding. Ideally, I want save them all, realistically I can’t. But to #1 son and the ones close to me, I’ve got you if you’ll let me be farse, but I promise, not out of place.

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"Our children are being lost"

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