There she sat. On a worn-out couch in the front part of her house, which consists of two rooms and pinna leaf roofing. She was close to crying. But her pride refuses to shed a tear. The cheering outside grew closer. After returning from the city, her husband spoiled his three wives with Western goods.
Staff:
Jerry Dewnarain, Thanya Fonkel, Bab Gons
The crowd stopped at her front door. Linzó, as she was called, was called. “Where are your goods? Show us your goods.” She kept quiet. The crowd continued to press. Out of enthusiasm, they did not immediately realize that there was no festive atmosphere at Linzó’s house. Her ten children were also there. They were spread out, but close to the house. They kept quiet. Mom could have successfully threatened them. “Oh woe, you will share in the joy of your father’s other wives, then something will wave!” After a while the cheering subsided. The crowd realized that the area was quiet. At that moment, Linzó opened her front door, which was much too small. She bent down and threw out a pot and five pangis. “I’ve had this.” The crowd became silent and amazed. A little girl broke the silence. “Is this all? The other women each had 50 pangis, blouses, 3 pots, glass plates and jewelry.” The crowd retreated without saying much. They were not used to that behavior from her.
Linzó was no longer concerned. She took comfort in the fact that she had the honor of being his first wife. Although she had shared more suffering than joy with him. He still had not built a house for her, on the contrary she was given the largest agricultural plots to cultivate. Well, nothing you can do about it. Not a hair on her head thought about another man.
Now that she was a little older, she seemed to sink to her knees. Her curves seemed a little too much for her knees. Or did it have something to do with the heavy work on the agricultural plots? She was often praised for her efforts, the many loads she carried on her head to feed her family. Bending over the river every day also took its toll. Her back often gave her warning signals to take it easy. But it was more important then to prove herself as a good and strong woman. Linzó, the beautiful one, lived up to her name. An attractive looking woman with long frizzy hair and slightly tanned skin. Thanks to her native grandmother who was married off to a Maroon man. She was quite calm and accommodating.
In gratitude for their husband’s generosity, each woman made gifts to the in-laws. Linzó will certainly not be left behind. She’ll show them how it’s done. Everyone became quiet when she walked up. She was clearly the topic of conversation. She greeted her in-laws respectfully and thanked them for their son’s gifts. Almost humbly, she handed over her gift that she had carried on her head into a large basin. In addition, in one hand she held a shiny aluminum bucket with a lid and a wooden handle. She delivered a bucket of homemade peanut butter, pounded saamaka alisi tied in a cotton cloth, cassava loaves, one bottle of coconut oil and one bottle of maripa oil. She also cooked. She had warm coconut porridge in the aluminum bucket. Her husband’s younger wives looked at her in horror. They had not supplied much to their in-laws.
The elders received her gifts. They liked Linzó, but felt sorry for her. Their son didn’t deserve her, but the elders didn’t want to lose her. As she walked away, an elderly uncle-in-law said, “What a strong woman, a pasensi uma.” Linzo himself thought “bunu u mi, hógi u mi.” I receive everything that happens to me, one day it will be okay.”
(Thanya D. Fonkel)
Ga terug naar je eigen land
Ga terug naar je eigen land
begroet jezelf bij de grens
verwelkom je
op je eigen gronden
jouw land
waar het stof van de aarde
de hitte van het asfalt
het rumoer van het leven
samenkomen in je middenrif
ga terug naar je eigen land
zet diep van binnen
voet op eigen bodem
leg je hand op je hoofdstad
haal diep adem
door je buitenwijken
waar de straten
zijn vernoemd naar je ware helden
ga terug en
wees je eigen land
weet je eigen land
altijd vlak achter je ogen
opgevouwen net onder je borstkas
tussen duim en wijsvinger
wees nooit een vreemdeling
want dit alles is jouw eigen land
ik ga terug naar mijn eigen land
betreed mijn gronden
vol verhalen van voorouders
waar het verspilde bloed
diepgewortelde eiken voortbracht
die me rechtop houden tussen de
resten van plantages
overwoekerd door distels en doofpotten
laten we teruggaan naar ons eigen land
de grond weer van ons allen maken
weer naar de zon laten groeien
wat is platgetrapt.
laten we de lucht zuiveren
met kamfer, kokos, citrus
sandelhout en salie branden
(laten we) luisteren naar de legendes
onder de sequoia, de baobab
de kankantrie
de stilte weer leren horen
tussen het geruis.
de stemmen van onze voorgangers
ons verbinden met
het land
de lucht
de rivieren
kom terug naar je eigen land
begroet jezelf bij de grens
verwelkom jezelf
op je eigen gronden
draag je land
altijd binnen handbereik
ergens vlak achter je ogen
in je gehemelte
laat zelfs tussen het kilste beton
je voeten zachtjes dansen op de aarde
zorg dat er altijd
genoeg kruid in je groeit
genoeg zand onder je nagels zit
zorg dat, de magie van de wind
je altijd kan vinden
je nooit de taal vergeet
en laat het land tot je spreken
vergeet niet
dat dit alles
jouw eigen land is
weet je eigen land
altijd vlak achter je ogen
opgevouwen net onder je borstkas
tussen duim en wijsvinger
wees nooit een vreemdeling
want dit alles is jouw eigen land
(Babs Gons)
