The saga of two disparately different people, one a teacher; the other a Rastafarian, who have but one thing in common: An ancestral past that has its beginnings in the perilous crossing of the Atlantic many moons ago in what was to become known as the infamous  Atlantic or African Slave Trade. Now, some 500 years on, and with the coming to a close of the Year for Peoples of African Descent, they each tell how they have striven in their own little way to  put the ignominy of those dark days behind them and make something of themselves.

“MY NAME is Latacia Anita Headley and I am 35 years old. I am a mother of four: Antionette, 10; Antonio, eight; Andel, three; and two-month-old Jesus.
I remember growing up in B.V. (short for Beterverwagting, a village just outside Georgetown on the lower East Coast) as a small girl. I lived with four of my sisters, mom and dad. At age eight, I went to live in Tiger Bay. My family is a large one: Three brothers and nine sisters.
“My early years had many ups and downs. There were times when we had enough to eat, and others when there was little or nothing. The tough times helped me to push myself. I decided I would be somebody when I grew up. With both parents working, my elder sister took care of us. There were also times when I was alone.
As I grew, my ambition was to be independent; I never liked begging, and looked forward to the day when I would be able to earn my own money. I saw many girls my age being comfortable begging men for money or things. This I could not do. There were also lots of women who were unemployed and fully dependent on their partners. I vowed never to be in that type of situation.
I began focusing on my future. I knew I needed a good career, and that to achieve this, I had to be educated. Some of my family members were good micro-entrepreneurs.  They cooked, made craft and sold these. I felt this was not what I wanted, and continued pushing myself to be educated.
Many persons made valuable contributions to my education. They encouraged me to study, and gave me a bit of financial support.  Church members, people in Tiger Bay, and my family all pitched in.

School life

My kindergarten education was at B.V.  I also began my primary education at a Catholic school there. At age eight, I went to live in Georgetown. There, I attended St. Andrew’s Primary School. After writing the Common Entrance Examination, I attended St. Mary’s Community High School. While there, a number of teachers looked out for me — Ms. Lake, Ms. Mavis Miller (H.M), Ms. Morgan, Sir Winter, Sir Young and Ms. Torrington. I wrote S.S.E.E  Parts 1 & II and passed to attend Alleyne’s High School. Unfortunately, there was a severe teacher shortage there, so I ended up going to Christ Church Secondary.
“At Christ Church, I met another group of good teachers.  Sir Albert Peters, Mr.  Watterton, Ms. Dolphin, Sir Goppie and Ms. Jaipaul were all very good to me. Ms.  Sheyenne Applewaite and Sr. Hazel Campaign both paid my exam fees. I have never been able to thank  them. I graduated from Christ Church with five subjects and got a job at AMCAR. I soon left the job and started teaching at Sacred Heart Primary School.
From 1996 to 1999, I attended Cyril Potter College of Education.  I graduated in 1999 and began teaching at my alma mater. I taught at Kingston Community High School from 1999 to 2004. I was 24 years old and teaching at Kingston Community High School when I became pregnant with my first child. I took a long break in service then returned to the profession in 2008 to teach at Christ Church Secondary. I still teach there today.

Dad

“My father was a very wise man; he was considered  a jack-of-all-trades, and he was very good at them all. He was well read and intelligent; he always had many books to read because he was an avid reader. These ‘big’ books made me very curious about reading. I longed to know what they contained. When I saw the pictures inside, they fired my imagination even more. I began to read as soon as I was able to.
Memories of Mills and Boon, Perry Mason, Robert Ludlum, Agatha Christie and Danielle Steele still remain with me.  Dad loved to argue politics; once he had an opinion, nothing could sway him. He was blunt and plainspoken; poor but neat. He would wear a shirt often, but would never wear a pants with a patch in it. Daddy was a boat-builder, an electrician/electronics repairman, a tailor and a carpenter. He was very industrious. Dad died when I was nineteen.
“Mom was always busy working around the house; she’s what you call a busybody. She’s also a peacemaker, and loves to cook and bake. A gentle woman, she cares about the feelings of others.  Though poor, she would still help others in need in whatever small way she could. Everyone loves her.  From the time I first knew her to now, she has always been slim. She walks most of the times she goes out, and rarely catches a bus. At her age, she can still out-walk her young daughters.
For as long as I can remember, I have always wanted a better life; I have strived to move away from Tiger  Bay, but  economic constraints have kept me here longer than I imagined.  I continue to reach for bigger and better opportunities. As an African woman, I know how to struggle, and how to preserve.”

‘LEPTIE’ sat in the shade of a tree and tried to think. He was a young, energetic and ambitious Afro-Guyanese. He meditated on how he had come to be a Guyanese: Africa, the capture of his forefathers, watery journey, death, land, slavery and sickness. Not a lot to smile about.
For the past three weeks, he had been haunted by the nagging feeling that something was missing in his life. He felt he was being nudged into some kind of action; but what? He dozed off in the shade of the tree, protected by its leaves from the unrelenting sunshine. He drifted off to sleep.
He found himself walking through a farm; his own. There were fruit trees, vegetables, provision and greens. His chest swelled with pride. “Yes! That was how Josh wanted him to live!” Someone shrieked at him and he jumped.
As he sat up rubbing his eyes, and realized that he’s only been dreaming. An annoying shriek again assaulted his eardrums. The perpetrator was a bird that had come to rest in a  branch above him. He stood and looked around him. Thick bush and wild trees was all he could see. On a post standing like a sentinel in this wooded area was a signboard which said: ‘Land to the Tiller.’
It was as if a light went off in his head. The vision in his dreams floated before him, and there and then he knew what he had to do. This was divine revelation. Action was his only option now.
Ras Roland Benjamin (also known as Leptie), made his way out of the woods (now Rasville) and headed for a friend in West Ruimveldt. He was sure that Wendell Van Rossum would listen to his story and give him some advice. On that fateful day, May 11, 1980,  Leptie met with Wendell. After hearing about the dream and his friend’s vision, Van Rossum gave him some materials to build a small shack, and tools to start carving out his dream on the bushy landscape.
That same day, his little hut was constructed. He moved in immediately, and thus began ‘Rasville’ or ‘Rasta Village’. He remembers that the mosquitoes were vicious, and it was very painful living there in the early days.
“Many nights I would cry in pain from the many mosquito bites.” Day after day, he chopped and weeded, clearing out a large area that he wanted to farm. It was back-breaking work, and the mosquitoes were fully against him, but he pressed on, confident that Jah would see him through.
Soon, his dream farm became a reality, and others followed suit. Being Colonial-born and educated, Leptie has a solid education and vast experience. He had been blessed to have   benefitted from both primary and secondary education. He’s also had military and paramilitary training, and at one time was a medic in the army.
At that time, the Mayor of Georgetown, Ms. Mavis Benn, visited the new settlement. She complimented him on his vision and ambition. Personnel of the Ministry of Agriculture visited him also.  As it was their normal duty to distribute plants and tools to all who were farming, Leptie received his share. This was a welcome help to him. He decided to name his new home Rasville, in tribute to his religion and passion for life. Even the then president, Forbes Burnham, visited the community and encouraged everyone to keep tilling the land.
Leptie has had some legal struggles. As a Rastafarian, he is dedicated to his religion, and has found himself in trouble with the law for his use of marijuana. He sees these incidents as “trials and tribulation.” He was once shot in the leg by a policeman, but Jah saw him through.
He’s also been arrested on a number of occasions for smoking weed, and became a bit depressed. This caused him to lose interest in the management of Rasville. Indiscipline quickly crept in, and instead of maintaining farming as the priority for occupants, housing took centre stage. This caused the emphasis to shift drastically, and today, farming is almost a thing of the past. Leptie has however stayed true to his roots. Farmer and spiritual man, he sees the rapid urbanization of Rasville, and regrets that the true focus has been lost.
He averages that there are about 90 families in the small community. There is the ever popular Rasville Youth Organization, always abuzz with youth-related activities. Basketball, football, table tennis, boxing, swimming and dominoes make up some of the activities there.
One much-anticipated community event is the Annual Village Day. On this occasion, everyone joins in to celebrate their community’s progress towards development.
Rasville continues to grow and develop. As the name indicates, many residents are Rastafarians. A religion stemming from the conviction that former Emperor of Ethiopia, the late Haile Selassie is the Messiah; this movement of Jamaica origins calls itself Rastafarian, a name (Ras Tafari) that Haile Selassie was known by. As part of their religious custom, the smoking of Sensemilla is acceptable and necessary.
On one of my visits to Rasville, I observed a pint-size table tennis player beating opponents twice his age. This augurs well for the future of youths in this housing scheme.