A Childhood Memory of Folk Medicine and Maternal Love

 

When I was seven or eight, I encountered a folk remedy that had been passed down for generations. It was a different time—one where survival meant relying on what was available. People were honest, hardworking, and deeply connected to their families and neighbors, sharing what they had and supporting each other in times of need.

Our home sat on sturdy concrete pillars, creating an open space underneath, perfect for childhood games. The warmth of the day was offset by the cool breeze swirling between the pillars. Construction was underway nearby, and we had been cautioned about the hazards. But children rarely think twice about danger when wrapped in the thrill of play.

During a game of hide-and-seek, I slipped behind a pillar where an old barrel stood, thinking I had found the perfect hiding spot. But as I moved, I stepped on a rusty nail, its jagged point piercing my heel through a forgotten piece of wood. At first, I thought little of it—childhood resilience had me convinced the pain would fade. So, I said nothing and went on with my day.

As the hours passed, discomfort turned to agony. By evening, I limped noticeably, drawing my mother’s attention. With gentle yet urgent concern, she asked what had happened. I told her, and she immediately inspected the wound. The infection was setting in, and she knew action had to be swift.

What followed was something I will never forget. My mother, calm and deliberate, reached for a clove of garlic, pressing it carefully. Then, she took a piece of cotton, soaking it in kerosene oil from the lamp. As I watched in silent curiosity, she did something entirely unexpected—she found a cockroach. Without hesitation, she cut it open and placed the garlic and cotton inside its exposed belly. Then, with remarkable composure, she laid the strange mixture over my wound and bandaged it.

She reassured me with words so steady that I found no fear in the oddity of her actions. “You’ll be fine by morning,” she said, sending me off to bed. That night, I slept soundly, the pain gone. And in the morning, true to her word, I was healed—no infection, no pain, no limp.

It was a different era, one where necessity shaped action, and wisdom passed down through generations formed solutions for survival. My mother loved deeply and would do anything for her children. This moment, forever etched in memory, reminds me of her strength and unwavering care—a quiet testament to the lengths a mother would go for her child.

My Amazing Mother

                                    Pigeon Point Beach, Tobago - Courtesy Wikipedia

 I grew up in a small village in the twin island state of Trinidad and Tobago. I am the youngest of nine children, five girls, and four boys. I hardly knew my father since he passed away when I was just five years old. As a result, my mother was the only one I can look to for guidance.

My mother was very protective of us. After our father died, two of my uncles came to our home and requested that my mother gave them a couple of us to take care of since they were concerned about our welfare. They thought that doing this would help my mother since she was a "stayed home mom" at the time of my father's passing. My mother loved us deeply and made excuses for each one of us. She wanted to keep us all together.  The uncles wondered how she would make it. But she had great faith, knowing that God would see us through.

There were times we did not have very much to eat, but after breakfast Mother would say, "This is all I have to give you. Do not tell anyone what you had for breakfast and when you return home, you will get something more." There was always something for us to eat even though it was not much and we have to thank God for the backyard garden we had.

 My mother went to the Social Services Office to request assistance for us. When the officer in charge told her the amount she would be getting each month, she immediately stated "That cannot take care of my children, I prefer to work." The officer admired her spirit and said he wished more people would do the same. It was not long after this meeting that she became the custodian of the elementary school in the area. She was industrious.

My Mother passed away in 2014. She was 95 years old.

Mother was an excellent cook, and I still remember the delicious meals she prepared for us. She taught us all the culinary arts as she knew it. It turned out that each of us had our specialty. Since we were five girls, each of us was assigned a weekend to be in the kitchen to prepare the different meals of the day. One would prepare breakfast, the other lunch, and so on. One Sunday morning, it was my turn to prepare breakfast and the rule was that no one else should be in the kitchen at that time. That was to prevent problems. It so happened that one of my older sisters (they're all older than me since I'm the youngest child) came into the kitchen and I told her to leave. She was a bit annoying which caused me to punch her on the nose which started to bleed. My mother heard of the incident and reprimanded me. I thought I was right and did not speak to my sister for the rest of the week, unbeknownst to my mother.

My oldest sister knew I was not speaking to that particular sister and when Friday evening came she mentioned it to our mother. Now, at our home, we welcomed the Sabbath at sunset Friday evening, since the keeping of the Sabbath is from sunset Friday to sundown Saturday. We will sing hymns and read the bible and give thanks, as we welcome the Sabbath. At worship time we will make all wrongs right before the start of worship. At that time I was defiant. Mother told me to ask my sister's forgiveness.  In my mind, I am thinking "Forgiveness for what!" She was the one who came into the kitchen when she should not have been there. I realized that when you are the youngest, you are at a disadvantage. My mother did not argue with me, all she said was "Apologize to your sister." Imagine that, I am the youngest and am holding up the evening worship. I asked, "What if I said I was sorry but did not mean it." Again my mother said, "Apologize to your sister." I finally decided it was not worth it since all eyes were on me, and ask for her forgiveness. Years later when I mentioned it to her, she claimed to have no idea what I was talking about.

 As we only had each other, my mother told us to be supportive of one another. That rule is with us up to this day.  She never yelled at us or argue with us but we knew that her word was law. Mother would tell us that we should never lie to her about anything.  If someone in the village would complain to her about us and we give a different story she would believe us. But if at a later time, she found out it was not the truth then there would be trouble. Fortunately, that seldom happened.

I remember as a nine-year-old child she told me to make a couple loaves of bread. At that time there was no "quick rising yeast" as we have today. We had the traditional yeast that you would put in a little warm water for a few minutes before adding to the flour. The two loaves did not double in size as they should have, but I still placed them in the heated oven to bake. After they were baked my mother came to see how I did with the baking. The loaves were hefty and she asked me what kind of water I put the yeast in for it to rise. I mentioned hot water. She said, "Child you killed the yeast." That was my first lesson learned in bread-making.

Today I pride myself on what I can do in the kitchen. Here is what I baked recently.

                            Coconut buns, Coconut Tarts, and Spelt Bread

Even though Mother was always busy with different things, she always took time to help other people. In our village, she delivered many babies even though she never went to college to learn those skills. Those skills were taught to her by her grandmother, whom she grew up with since her mother died when she was eight years old. Sometimes she was called to deliver a baby in the middle of the night. I remembered one instance, during the early morning hours she was called, and as soon as the baby was born she told the parents to take that child to the hospital immediately because she knew something was not quite right. They did so and she was right in her "diagnosis" of the child because the doctor told them that if they had waited a bit longer the baby would not have lived. My mother was wise.