Page 25 - DAPHNE HART - MY MAMA STORY (AUDIO VERSION)

The first time we heard a car passing, we were amazed. So whenever
we heard it coming, we would race up to the road just to look at it—

smoke gushing from the back, sounding like gunshots, and the air

stinking of gasoline.

It was many years later that a truck would pass by. Then an old, rickety

bus started coming through, picking up people to take to Mandeville.
You took your life in your hands when you got on that bus. They

wouldn’t just run out of gas—sometimes they ran out of water to cool

the engine down.

I never rode on it because I couldn’t stand the smell of the gasoline. So

we would walk—nine miles to Mandeville, or eight miles to Cross
Keys, or eight miles to Alligator Pond. We walked everywhere. Always

a bunch of women traveling by night, usually with loads on their heads.
My mom never liked leaving me at home, so I would tag along with

them.

I remember the donkey-drawn cart. We didn’t have one—only the more
successful folks had them. My poor mother was used like one. If you

were well-off, you would have a mule with a buggy.

We usually broke stones to put on the roads. It seemed like forever we

were breaking and piling up stones on the side of the road. Then, around

Christmas time, they would come measure it and spread it on the roads.
That was our income for Christmas.

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