By Debra Francis
When I was only twenty years old, I had a four-year-old daughter and I was pregnant again. And I was homeless.
My partner, Kendall, had just built a five-bedroom house back home in Trinidad—a friend had given him the land. When the home was built, the man asked to move in with us. Six months later he asked us to leave. He said, “Break the house down,” and so we had to break it down. The house had cost us a lot of money, and now we had to move out.
I had nowhere to go. I couldn’t go to my parents’ two-bedroom
house because it was full with my brother and other siblings. So I ended up on the street.
Kendall kept asking around until he found a gardener who would let us stay in his toolshed until the baby was born. The toolshed was made of galvanized metal. Since there were no windows, there was no place for the heat to go. Life was so humid and stressful that I worried I’d get a stroke while I was
pregnant.
To make the shed into a temporary home, Kendall spread empty chickpea sacks on the dirt floor and made a torch soaked in kerosene to provide light. I cooked on a sheet of metal propped up by three big stones over a fire. The only dishes we had were calabash gourds, and we’d eat out of them with our hands. There was no water, so I would get up each morning and walk to the
spring a mile away to bathe and wash clothes. Then I’d wait until the sun went down when it was cooler to walk home.
One Sunday morning I was alone with my four-year-old daughter in the shed when the pains started. I sent my little girl to find a neighbor to help. When I got to the hospital and heard the doctors order a C-section, I began to connect myself in prayers to God. But I had just started to call on God when I heard the first cries of my son, Jelani. He may have been born when we were in poor circumstances, but his name means “mighty.” Soon afterward I returned to the toolshed. My daughter, Alana, had to start sleeping on the dirt floor so I could keep baby Jelani with me on the makeshift bed Kendall put together out of a tree trunk. I kept praying to the Lord to send us someone sensible to lend us a helping hand and to give me the strength to bear these difficulties.
We finally moved into our brand new three-bedroom home on Mother’s Day, just two months before Jelani’s first birthday. I put my daughter in kindergarten and my son in a nursery while I earned a degree in practical nursing and began my career in nursing homes and private hospitals.
While working as a nurse, I also went into the business of selling “doubles,” a Trinidadian treat. The whole family would help. Each day when I’d get home from helping my patients, I would wash all the pots and pans. I’d knead the dough for the next day’s doubles at 10 p.m., and then my husband and I would get up at one o’clock to roll and fry the flat breads. When Jelani was in primary school, he’d get up at three to put the channa (chickpeas) on to soak. By six my husband would be on the road selling doubles out of an icebox on his bike. In the morning, he would sell doubles to people looking for breakfast. Later in the day, he’d sell to people coming home from work. By that time, Alana was home from school and already cooking the chickpeas for our next day’s doubles: fried flat breads, curried chickpeas, and all the sauces: tamarind, pepper, mango, and golden apple. They were the best doubles in Western Trinidad. Business was good.
Thanks to good luck and the hard work of the whole family, by the time my second son was born he had his own crib, his own bedroom, and hot and cold running water. And I’m happy that my second daughter, Shanika, never had to know what it was like to live in a toolshed.
But I have learned a lot from my journey, and so have my husband and children. We know what it’s like to be homeless. And we know not to judge people who need the help of others. Today, my husband—who is still back in Trinidad—helps people renovate their homes for free. Jelani gives books and groceries and other supplies to children and the elderly in Trinidad. Alana helps children and churches in need both here and in Trinidad. And I am always ready to speak up for those who need an advocate, and to raise money for the things my community needs: lights, drains, trash pickup, or anything
else. I’ve even given a lot to people in Trinidad who needed to build homes. In fact, the person who made us break down our first home eventually became a vagrant, and I helped him.
Back when I was living in the gardener’s shed, I used to call on God to give me the strength to bear my burdens and to send us someone to lend a helping hand. Being poor, hungry, and homeless—especially with small children—is a sad thing. That’s why I am grateful today to be able to give back to others and to remind them that with God all things are possible.
