Muddy Paths

I love teaching. The hardest part is grading. I feel bad when I have to give someone a grade that messes up their GPA. It upsets my whole day. So, when I received an emotional email explaining how this grade was about to destroy his academic career, I did two things. I called the Dean to ask for advice. Although I already know the answer, I needed to hear his response: “You are right; don’t cave Karen”. Then I went for a walk. Exercise is always good.

I walk past the fishermen and through the area the villagers call the Ghetto. As I get further in the ghetto the paved roads are behind me and muddy paths are approaching. I walk along the waters edge. A man carrying who knows what wrapped in a towel and placed on top of his head stops me. He has a cutlass in his hand and is wearing torn clothes and no shoes. He wants to know if I work for Saint Judes, a hospital in Vieux Fort. I tell him no.

He tells me that he dated a white nurse at Saint Judes. He gave her nice clothes. He had a car and took her to nice places. They had a beautiful house on the beach just past the double-gated entry. One day she took everything and disappeared. She took all his clothes and his car. He went to her house, but the house was no longer there. It disappeared.

Although she took everything from him she couldn’t take his will to make himself young. He explains that he’s afraid to die. When he becomes very afraid, he goes to a place in his head and becomes young again. He has powers that no one else has. He is special. I’m thinking, “he’s also afraid to take his medication”. He’s friendly, but as he talks, waiving the cutlass, I am beginning to feel uncomfortable. I remind him too much of the white nurse at Saint Jude’s Hospital.

I tell him I’m glad he found his fountain of youth, but I must move on. He wants me to let him know if I see the white lady who is a nurse in Vieux Fort and I assure him I will.

A few yards later I meet a very old woman. She stops me and says, “my name is “Camille”. We exchange pleasantries and she begins stringing words together that make no sense. It looks and sounds like Alzheimer’s to me. We spell her name together several times and she is having a great time. By now, I’ve left the grading stress behind and I’ve entered another dimension in time.

As I leave the muddy path and walk onto the paved road there is a sense of normalcy. People stop to have a few words. They ask me how I am. They want to know that I’m ok. Then they move on. I hope my student is able navigate his muddy path and move on to the paved road where he may find reality.