She stays

Pity the children.

Pity the children used as pawns by lonely, desperate Baby Muddahs.

They are "mothers" in name only, mothers who have children by accident or design but, either way, without the consent nor desire of their partner.

That is why they are forever "Baby Muddahs." They are no longer girlfriends, never become wives, just the perpetual unwanted link to a man who would sleep with them but never marry them. A most unfortunate status, perhaps the lowest status imaginable.

And they use these unwanted children to get attention, to compel their equally irresponsible Baby Faddahs to look at them just one more time. When the Baby Faddahas just want them to go away.

Some will even go so far as to threaten to give away their children, to give them to strangers in a foreign country, just to get noticed again by the Baby Faddah. To get some attention from someone who just wants the Baby Muddah to disappear. The Baby Muddahs don't really care, getting bad attention is better than no attention at all, seen?

Pity the children.

But Tasha will stay.............despite the Baby Muddah.

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Giving Away Tasha

"What do you mean, they're giving her away?" I asked.

My sister-in-law just shrugged,  raising her eyebrows, pushing her pursed lips outward. She looked away.

"Felecia, giving her away to who?" I said, getting irritated with the typical lack of details about a typically outrageous situation.

She looked back at me, her expression blank. "To one white lady fram farrin." She stared at me, waiting for another dumb question.

"Whaddya mean, one white lady?  What white lady?  How does her mother even know 'one white lady fram farrin?' " I said, getting pissed off at the opaque nature of her information. Tasha's mother, one of my brother-in-law's "baby muddahs,"  lived way out inna bush outside of Savanna La Mar. How she ever came in contact with a white lady tourist was beyond me.

"Mi nah know. Jess one white lady who seh she cyan gi' Tasha ed-yoo-kay-shun an' ting. Mek she haff one bettah life den dung soh." Felecia curled up one side of her mouth and shrugged again, as if she were only repeating what she had been told and didn't quite believe it. "She seh she gwan tek Tasha up a farrin, adopt she, and raise her up soh." Felecia looked away again, this time looking wistful instead of annoyed.

"And Antsman is ok with this? He's letting the fool Baby Muddah just send Tasha to another country with a stranger? How well does anybody know this white lady, anyway? Is this even legal?" I was getting upset. But I was asking too many questions, much too quickly. I should have known better.

Dung soh, down in Jah-mey-kah, information drips out slowly, if at all, like the last spoonful of ketchup in the bottom of the bottle. You can slam the bottom of the bottle real hard, hoping that what remains will explode out in big spurts.  Or you can just turn the bottle upside-down and let rest it on the countertop, until everything slowly collects in a liquid pool,  ready to spill out.

So I tipped the bottle over slowly and waited........

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Von Dutch

Miss Una, who is giving you those dreadful Von Dutch hats to tuck up your braids? Seriously.

If I had known it had come to this, I would have stocked up on some finer millinery options for you, sweetie.  I know the church hats are only for sunday and you need a proper day-to-day to protect your head from the blazing sun but, ma'am, Von Dutch?

No no no no no. That ain't right. Let me think on it some and see what we can do............

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