by Hart Tillett

Reginald (Reggie) McAllister and his wife Glenda lay awake, listening to the wind as it buffeted and galed against the timber walls of their house on Pembroke Road in Ladyville. When the building shook, followed by a horrible splintering sound, they knew that the coconut had fallen onto it. Reggie went to the living room to check, but that was instinctual only as he couldn’t venture into the stormy outdoors then. And as the windows were all boarded up he couldn’t see through those either.

“Guess we’ll have to wait till daylight,” he whispered, as he went back to bed pulling the sheet up to his chin.

Hurricane Hattie, the strongest one to hit the country for 30-years, was forecast to make landfall near Belize City as a Category 4 storm. And from the sound of it, Hattie had. Their half-acre lot in the village lay some ten miles inland, with no hills or high ridges to break the steady advance of the storm that hammered now upon them at full strength.

While they both heard the same crashing sounds, the thoughts which encroached [on] them were very different.

For a long time, they had toyed with a suggestion from Glenda’s sister, Linda, that she was welcome to join her in America—New York City, to be precise—if they wished to better their economic situation. As a nurse, the argument ran, Glenda would have no difficulty in getting a job in one of the many hospitals there. The offer was attractive, but they hesitated because at the time their only child, Reginald (Junior), then only 9-years old, and 4-year-old twins Jasmine and Jeffrey would be affected by the move away from the British schooling in Belize. Then there was the issue of the security of their home from vandals, wear, and risks associated with rentals. Those were Reggie’s musings as he lay silently beside his wife.

Glenda, an RN-qualified nurse by training and a pet and nature lover by inclination had, on the other hand, thought of her family and friends that she would be leaving behind, going to a strange land and having to readjust her expectations of life while acclimatizing herself to a whole new culture, if what Linda told her about her Executive Boulevard neighborhood in Yonkers, New York City could be believed. She had no green card, she would remind Linda; to which she would respond, “I didn’t either when I made the move, remember?”

She did remember, and the issue made her hesitate even more about a change like that.

Additionally, she had concerns about Junior’s welfare too. He was a bright kid, his teachers said; and doing well in his private piano lessons. Instinctively, she felt that such a major upheaval would not be good for him.

“’Sounds like the tree fell,” groaned Reggie, shifting his position uneasily.

It did fall, and brought down with it the western section of their home, added to facilitate a washroom and storage area. The roof of the small shed, built to house Reggie’s wished-for riding mower (that never materialized because of mortgage payments and the car note), was partly torn away and lay mangled against the concrete fence. They were the lucky ones, though, it sounded like; according to Radio Belize, reporting on the damage the hurricane had wreaked on Belize City, whole city blocks had been razed, and what remained had been seriously affected by the 8-foot storm surge.

The insurance company that carried their fire policy said they were under-insured, which meant they had to bear most of the repair costs, something that drained their meager savings.

Following the hurricane there was widespread shortages, mainly of foodstuff and medicines. And, as electricity, water and telephone services struggled to get back to tolerable operational levels, Reggie and Glenda revived their conversations about the prospect of moving to America.

“But we don’t have the funds anymore,” one or the other would voice the reminder, ending the discussion. As the hardships persisted and even worsened, however, they began to refine their plans about America. Would Glenda consider going alone to assess the chances of succeeding there? If it worked, they would then decide on the move. If not, the matter would be viewed as a failure and dropped. It was a tempting thought and came up with growing and persistent frequency.

And later on Reggie would ask: “Heard from Linda lately?”

“You never listen to me,” she punted. “I told you last week that a letter came.”

“Sorry, dear,” Reggie pleaded. “You know that it’s been hard for me to find steady work in the present mess the hurricane has left the country.” Reggie was a floor finisher and depended on contractors to give him jobs. Seemed like the country was on standstill while people waited for insurance payments to enable them to offer work.

Glenda spoke up.

“She has repeated her offer about our going to them,” she said with no enthusiasm.

“I’ve often wondered how that would work,” said Reggie, more to bolster her mood rather than holding out any promise.

A few months after Hattie struck, whispers began circulating that the US government was easing visa restrictions as part of their plan to assist nationals of Belize wanting to emigrate. Glenda had heard it through her connections at the hospital where she worked. She said nothing to Reggie, but secretly assessed her chances of living in America. No one could fault her for grasping the opportunity to better her family’s situation. Others with less qualifications than her had made it; and once they were settled in there the opportunities would be endless—for Junior and his musical career; for Reggie whose skills would provide a jump-start into the American dream; and for the twins.

“I’ve made up my mind,” she said to him softly as he worked the next Sunday afternoon kitchen detail.

“About what?” Reggie asked indifferently, without looking her way.

She knew that even though they had been talking about this for a long time, Reggie had had some deep-seated personal worry about the move. One that stayed with her was what he had said about the home they lived in. We need this place to gather, he had said softly as if he were calming a restless Junior while he slept. He was referring to the practice of his family—siblings, their offspring and friends—all coming together there to celebrate occasions of merrymaking—Christmas Eve, the Tenth, Easter Monday and the like. It had been his father’s home and the home of Grandpa Pembroke and Grandma Elise: hallowed ground indeed. And this moment was one to be remembered. She went and stood beside him, her hand resting reassuringly around his waistline.

“I’ll apply for the visa,” she said gently.

His hesitation was instant, but only for a moment.

“That’s great, honey,” he said, turning to embrace her, a broad smile lightening up his brief, furrowed look. “But what of the children?” he asked, “…the twins who cling to you like mad; and Junior, with his piano lessons?”

“As you know, Mom has promised to take them in while I’m away,” she protested; “and besides, it will only be for a few months until we have some money and can decide on what to do.”

And so the die was cast. Together they began the preparations for what they both knew could be the most risk-laden venture in their lives. She got references, found or got copies of her certificates, made arrangements for others to help with Jeffrey and Jasmine, and the like. The most challenging was finding the best way to explain to the children why Mommy had to go away. There were promises given, and cajoling reassurances made; but in spite of it all, they were not enough to stop their tears. And when she said her goodbyes at the airport, it took all her strength to hold back her own pent-up tears until she was seated in the plane.

(To be continued)