Gloria Gant
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Laxleyval Sagasta
Laxleyval Sagasta was born and raised in the Jamaican countryside, in an era that secondary education was primarily for the very wealthy, so he not being one; set out to develop and expand his elementary school achievement by studying through correspondence courses. He had travelled extensively in the Caribbean, USA, Canada, Europe and North Africa, and is now retired from vocational teaching. Much of what he writes are stories related to him of real people in real time. His most fond hobbies are international travelling, and listening to ordinary people's extra ordinary stories. Mr Sagasta loves folklures. One of his books: The ORIGINAL JAMAICAN Patois; Words Phrases and Short Stories is a testament to his efforts to pass on some of the lesser known stories of the Jamaican people.
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The Original Jamaican Patois; Words, Phrases and Short Stories Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Dulciemiena from Jamaica Rating: 2 out of 5 stars2/5
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Gloria Gant - Laxleyval Sagasta
9781626751446
Chapter One
Gloria Gant was the youngest of five children that moved from Southern Georgia to D’lberville, Mississippi with her entire family. Her mother’s husband Nicholas Gant came into her family and had her and her two elder sister’s last name changed to his. Her two brothers at the time were fifteen and sixteen. Their last names did not get changed, because their mother could continue to receive child support money from their father. The two boys had the same biological father and the three girls another.
The year was 1964, she was five years old then, but could read as well as any of her older brothers and sisters, because not only did they teach her to, but most of her time when she was alone it was spent going through their books and school work . She was very much loved by her adopted father, maybe because she was fair in complexion as he was, and was prettier than the others.
No one thought of her as a Prophetess or Seer. The family moved to Mississippi, because the neighborhood children teased her, calling her devil child. Over a period of a year on a consistent basis she was able to foretell things that happen in the new community a day before the event actually occur, and to recognize illnesses of the people around her. None of her revelations were ever prompted or encouraged, except that she was able to stand in close proximity in front of any person and tell them things about themselves that they may or might not have known. Most of the predictions that she had made were classified as coincidental until one night when her mother tucked her into bed, she said; Mamma, take your umbrella with you tomorrow so you won’t get wet
.
Her mother Cynthia, a short stocky black woman who worked as a maid with some white folks in the city of Biloxi considered it strange that her daughter told her to take her umbrella with her. There was a drought; it hadn’t rained in more than three months. As a matter of fact, the last time that it was forecasted to rain she had taken her umbrella to work, but it stayed a clear day, so she left it on her job. That night before she went to bed, she watched the late night news, and the weather forecast was for clear skies.
For her to be at work at seven in the morning, she had to leave home at five to catch her first bus and transfer to another, with a one hour wait between buses. Missing one bus meant that she would be late by two hours.
At work that day, most of Cynthia’s chores consisted of ironing clothes. Her employer had her once per week do the ironing for her friends and collected money for it. It was so hot on the screened back porch where she usually does that type of work that she used a long electric extension cord to reach the ironing board under a tree in the backyard where there was a slight breeze. Normally she would leave work at three-thirty in the afternoon, but that day she had to work until five-thirty to make up for the two hours that she was late the day before. She was late two hours because the bus was late two hours, and Gloria had told her the night before that her bus would be late, but she neglected to make any alternate plans to get to work.
At five-fifteen she got permission from her boss to leave so that she could catch the last bus. It was late summer, and daylight hours were long. All around was bright and clear. By the time she got off her second bus about three quarters of a mile from her house, the entire surrounding was as dark as a midnight without the moon. There were no street lights in that part of the neighborhood, and only the flash of lightening and the occasional automobile head lights provided enough light for her and other pedestrians to barely see where to walk.
Suddenly, the down pour of torrential rains came. That was when Cynthia regretted not adhering to her daughter’s advice about the umbrella. It had crossed her mind to take it with her just before she left her job, but