Page 36 - DAPHNE HART - MY MAMA STORY (AUDIO VERSION)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I
never knew that I was pretty, because no one ever told me so. As
parents, you should always let your children know that they are

beautiful. And I never celebrated a birthday. By this time, I was

in my twenties.

Now, the taxi I took to the address—well, the driver and I got to know

each other on the way. He was nice and good-looking. He asked if he
could visit me sometime, and because I was young and naïve, just

coming to the big city and not knowing where evil lurks, I said yes—
because I needed a friend.

We went out together a few times, but I lived on the premises. My

advice: try to know as much about the person as possible before you
get too close. I never met any friends of his. How many other girls he

might have had—who knows?

But he found time and places to meet with me. I was unhappy because

my employer was not paying me as promised, but he would help me

out. When I did start getting paid, I offered to pay him back, but he
refused to take it. I knew him only as George. People called him

“Brownman,” I suppose because he was very light in complexion—but
I called him George. I preferred that name, because in Jamaica, people

always call others by an alias.

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