This is the part two of Sharlenerose story about her wonderful father. Wonderful read!, Enjoy
My father was my hero. Daddy was living in New York City from I was born, maybe before…and my first memories of him are of when he used to visit the island of Jamaica where I was born, in the small little fishing town of Port Antonio. Why would I say fishing? My mother’s father was a fisherman and I only know that stands out for me, I was born off Seaside Rd, in Prospect, on a street called Vida Lane, and the greatest man who never was, he was the one who sired me. I went to live in Kingston 20 when I was 4 years old when my mom finished her schooling at the teacher’s college. Boy was I glad she came for me. Anyway I digress, daddy used to visit the island maybe once or twice a year, in those days…more often twice.
It was when I turned about six or so that I started writing daddy’s letters. He loved them a lot, or so I’m told. Uncle Wally says Daddy used to come to the little bar and lounge they hung out at, to read my letters. He said Daddy used to call and say she sent another one; they would then meet up at the bar where he would read my letter out loud. I loved him so much, especially at that age. I was such a strange child and I remember one time when Daddy came to visit, I was feeling weird I only saw him twice a year, I didn’t know what to call him. We were at the beach, and I wanted to go round this cliff that looked very interesting, so I said, “come mek we go ova deh so, yaw.” In the Queen’s English I would say, “come let’s go over there, you sir.” Daddy was not amused. Daddy said,” my name is not Yaw, I am your father, my name is Daddy,” and it took me awhile because I tried not to address him for the rest of the day. He had to get pass my suspicions. I knew he was my dad, that’s a word, so, as I said, it took me some time. It became clear upon arriving here that I did not know my father very well. At least, as a Pisces, he never made promises he couldn’t keep, as one of the doomed persons such as me he also had the misfortune to be born in March, and therefore suffered from a touch of insanity. Enough of that, what I would like to say is, even though Daddy was not a in my home dad I love him for the memories he gave me.
Daddy was the seventh son; I am the first daughter for my mother and him. Daddy said he was about sixteen and getting ready to take the Common Entrance Exam, he lost all of his books. Then the day just before the exams he found them in his desk. He took them up and immediately began to study. He took the bus home, when he went a little ways on his journey; he heard a voice telling him to jump out of the window. By the time he got to his stop he could not walk. My aunt took my father to a mother woman in the area, carrying him on her back. He was looked after and by the time to go home, he could walk again. He was to visit this lady many times in his life.
My father went through a trans-possession where he was possessed by an Orisha for two weeks. The doctors thought he was in a coma. When he was released he talked about the visions he had. In one of his visions it was said that he saw him and two of his daughters in the other realm. One of them was supposed to be me. I was knocked down by a car at around the age of nine. I am what one would call “dead and wake”. They brought me back. The Spirits have a mission for me. I don’t know what it is yet, but when I find out I’ll be on it. When I went through my awakening, I called my aunt and as we were talking about the things I was experiencing, she said “ when your father came out of his trance, one day he just sat up and said” Sharlene, sharlene is like me”. I am, but oh so different. Daddy knew many things, many things he experienced, I don’t think I was old enough for him to share, but I wish I was.
In 1995, my father came to visit, and he said he would be taking me back to America with him. He called his wife and told her, within the same week I lost a sister I have never known. It was rather uncanny, because she was the one who was loved by all. She died in childbirth. A few days before she died, Daddy said he wanted to take me to see the lady on the hill, I told him I wasn’t going anywhere, because I wasn’t aware. Daddy went alone. I never knew why he felt he was supposed to bring me to her, or why I was chosen. Some things you never find the reason for. I pray that they take me and tell me one day. My father had a poem Who am I, What am I, Allah tell me, at times I find myself asking the same questions. My life mirrors in his in more ways than one, but that’s another subject. It was three weeks after my sister died that I came to live in the States. The firstborn child with his wife, my sister called my dad, and asked him,’ why did you bring her here”? To which he replied, “I brought her to replace the one that died”. Harsh yes, but I know in my heart that some exchange was done for what was to be the end of me. A sacrifice had been made. All of my aunts, seven or so, have a child that had been buried in their family home, before they even left Jamaica. Months after I arrived here Daddy started to regress once again; he talked to me, really talked to me. He told me the reason he chose to marry his wife and bring her here, as opposed to my mother. He told me about the love he had for my mother, and how I was conceived on a little island off Port Antonio, and he told me of his love; for me.
There is a war in and over my head. My father’s family travelled to Jamaica with Ogun. I love Ogun, Ogun is like a father, a brother, a husband to me. He carried me through storms, he has defended me all my life, and yes it was he, who jumped in and took blows for me. It was he who blotted out the memories and kept me innocent from remembering molestation, and yes, even death. How can I help but to love this wonderful Orisha that has often showed himself like a man to me, who has held me, and who fathered me? My mother’s family came to Jamaica with Chango. Chango who’s thunder is surpassed by nothing else, who’s lightening moves swift and strikes the enemy like I would myself, wielding the sword of justice like a great judge. My husband was a five percenter, and I was one too, the name he gave me was Queen Justice Refine Earth. Justice became my attribute because Chango is dominant in my life. I serve justice, penalty for wrongdoings, and rewards for the right. I am in a battle that only a spiritual elder would be able to see. Thank you for heeding my story.
It is not only the hare, the tortoise arrives also at the destination…Yoruba Proverb.
Obara Meji is a spiritualist, Ifa-Orisa practitioner, and teacher of metaphysics. Since 2011 she has used her online platform to share her personal experiences to those seeking answers about spirituality. Her teachings will expand into short stories, novels, and public speaking to continue her mission of bringing enlightenment to the world.