Gabrielle Ho­sein

I'm hap­py for all I have be­cause I be­lieve I work for it. At the same time, I am ter­ri­fied of chance, the ran­dom in­stant when it could all change. I love liv­ing in Trinidad, but I feel the ter­ror of crime. Some men and women will do any­thing to get what they want. As I sit out in the sim­ple beau­ty of a per­fect night, I am edged by com­plete fear that our house could be fa­tal­ly and vi­o­lent­ly at­tacked. I am sure a lot of oth­er peo­ple feel it too, es­pe­cial­ly women. What kind of life is this? I feel po­lit­i­cal­ly com­mit­ted to work in my re­gion, where I can make a dif­fer­ence. Al­though I dream to live where I am not in fear, mi­gra­tion is my last op­tion. It is one thing to fear for your life, but an­oth­er to al­so fear for your child and her fa­ther. I've seen the tragedy cov­er­ing front pages too of­ten. My hus­band doesn't feel as I do, but he is al­so a man.

We al­so live in a pas­toral com­mu­ni­ty, with less crime. But hav­ing been very close to crim­i­nal vi­o­lence and male at­tack be­fore-men at­tempt­ing to kick in the bed­room door, maul­ing my fam­i­ly-I have learned that it can hap­pen any­time. Just be­cause it hasn't hap­pened doesn't mean it won't. Am I be­ing para­noid? Many, many peo­ple I know have been robbed and there are many many more guns in cir­cu­la­tion now. What should I think? What should I feel? I'm still un­easy from Es­ter's Ugan­dan sto­ry of vi­o­lence. That has me re­flect­ing on just what can hap­pen. The un­be­liev­able. What do I do that mo­ment my fam­i­ly may be in dan­ger? I've thought about it many times. I would do every­thing to get con­trol of the sit­u­a­tion and sur­vive. I'd kill any­one with­out think­ing if they at­tacked me and I feared for my body and life. Se­ri­ous­ly. A guy I knew once told me, you on­ly have one chance. He was right. I'm that moth­er in de­fence of her cub. No won­der moth­ers are so ter­ri­to­r­i­al.

I'm al­so mourn­ing the death of too many peo­ple in the last days alone. I am think­ing of those moth­ers who have lost their chil­dren. Death stalks the land like men in busi­ness suits and men with guns, and men with anger spilling over their oth­er emo­tions. At home re­cov­er­ing from a tir­ing day, I am safe­ly and hap­pi­ly in do­mes­tic qui­et. Typ­ing in joy and I am glad for the world. For love and re­la­tion­ship and home, pur­pose and pas­sion. I feel like I oc­cu­py a tiny palace on a hill on a beau­ti­ful plan­et, blessed by a star­ry night. What­ev­er life's chal­lenges, I am lucky. Here is where I am sup­posed to be. I want to fo­cus on the good. Yet, amid all this are shad­ows of wor­ry for my fam­i­ly. I feel pow­er­less to do more than close my eyes and wish them safe­ty.