From a Caterpillar to a Majestic Butterfly: A tale of poverty and survival.

Like a thief in the night, she came. Like a silent killer, she shattered our lives into a plethora of
pieces. We became her victims of circumstances. From the outside, she appeared compassionate,
good-natured and dependable, like a mother looking after her suffering children. But, as my
mother would say, Gopaul luck ent Seepaul luck. She became heartless, malicious and unreliable
towards us. She, who I have assigned the name Poverty, didnt care about our age, sex, or
religious affiliations. She abused and enslaved us; but she didnt define us.

Although Nelson Mandela stated that Education is the most powerful weapon one can use to
change the world, education doesnt prevent the occurrence of poverty. Despite being
inextricably linked, a persons educational achievement does not always correlate with the life they
will live. When the walls began to crumble around us, nobody could have mentally prepared us for
the tragedy that befell us.

I have never relied heavily on feelings or my extrasensory perception, but rather on the things that
I could discern visually. Maybe, if I had not ignored the unorthodox feeling that evening, our house
would have still been bearing its brick and mortar construction. On that fateful Saturday, prior to
that devastating event, all was well and good, or so it seemed. The evening was over-casted with
pregnant clouds. My mother and myself sat vis--vis on the crippled steps, mildewed without
recognition. Without warning, I heard what sounded like the cracking of firewood. I jumped up,
and ran inside to see what had happened. That was the moment when the calm evening turned
into a firestorm. Instantaneously, things took a drastic turn for the worse.

On the inside, I was ungraciously welcomed by an immense heat that penetrated my skin, as I tried
to battle the leaping flames. The inferno could be seen sneaking its way out of my bedroom and
towards the living room. Indeed, I found myself between a rock and a very hard place. I scampered
to retrieve any remnant of my belongings. Unfortunately, the only thing I could salvage fire free
was my degree certificate. Upon retrieving it, I ran outside only to be greeted by my mothers pallid
and emotionless face. Soon enough, the flames ravaged throughout the house sweeping every nook
and cranny. The fire had no remorse in enveloping everything in its path.

The wind howled its mighty approval propelling the flames to the adjacent garage. I was
dumbfounded, but I heard the eerie screams of my mother as she clinched her stomach to soothe
the intense piercing pain that had gripped her. My eyes were red and swollen as tears slowly
streamed down my face. It was a moment of hopelessness and destruction. Death seemed easier
than living a life of poverty.

People came from all areas of various demographics. Some in their nightgowns and others in their
towels, as they desperately tried to save our home. A company of courageous firefighters arrived
15 minutes later, engaging in a heroic battle with the raging fire, but it was too late as the fire
completely gutted our home. That night, the villagers and our relatives pledged in solidarity their
support to help my mother and I, but when the dust had settled, they all vanished into thin air. We
were left with the clothes on our backs, and my degree certificate which I saved.

Many nights we slept on the pavements and in cardboard boxes. The brutal coldness of the night
never spared us. During the days, we slept at foreclosed houses and homeless shelters. Every day,
I wondered why poverty had chosen us. I wondered if we would find a way to break the cauldron
of poverty. But I was determined to make the most of my situation, as my mantra stated: no
situation was permanent, so too it would pass

Sociologists like Herbert.J. Gans posited that poverty is functional in every society because menial,
dirty, hazardous jobs exists and poverty ensures that there is a pool of low-wage labour with no
choice but to accept these types of jobs. This was far from the truth. Herbert looked at everything
through a sociological perspective, mapping human behaviour and its connection to the society.
He never focused on understanding an individual as part of a whole. Even with these low wage
jobs, I was unable to work due to the countrys economic crisis. I remained hopeless, homeless
and unemployed.

People judged me, they called me all natures of derogatory names. In some cases, the expressions
on their faces spoke for them. The stigma of poverty impeded my advancement up the social
ladder, and ultimately my success. I no longer believed in my abilities, but in the opinions of others.
I became paralyzed by indecision. The paralysis inhibited my capability to function effectively, but
to a greater degree, it mentally restrained my self-esteem. My low self- esteem continued to have a
profound effect on my goals and confidence. In my mind, poverty had crippled me, but in my
heart poverty couldnt define me.

Just as a caterpillar comes out of its self-inflected home, I decided it was time to come out of my
comfort zone. I assured myself that life was too short to give up. I did some self-introspection on
the situation and it lead me to the conclusion that, I could be as good as any, and better than many.
When I finally took the bull by the horns, everything seemed a bit clearer. Instead of moping
around every day, I began offering voluntary assistance to an old lady, whose stature was petite,
however, she made up for it with a sarcastic attitude to compensate for the obvious void in height.
The old lady, Merriam Jennifer John to be precise; or as she was most fondly called MJ. managed
a shop which specialised in the fabrication of clothing.

One day, MJ. approached me and offered the job for paid labour. In addition, she allowed my
mother and I to stay in her old abandoned garage. I was ecstatic. As time progressed, my self-
esteem improved, and so did my confidence. It reminded me that no situation was indeed
permanent. Little by little, I could purchase food items and even clothes for my mother and I.
Sometimes, MJ even provided us with a hot meal. As difficult as living in poverty was, we found
hope and peace in the kindness of others. It appeared that our days of suffering had ended.

Nine months of hardship, physical, emotional and mental pain, not to mention the immense blow
to our social status finally materialized into something positive. A once pale face was now
exuberantly replenished with vigour, hope and the belief that my mother and I would be just fine.
I believed that if I had faith as small as a mustard seed, I could make all my dreams and wishes
come true. Faith never left me. We became tied together like a husband and his wife in marriage;
indeed, bonded together by cords that could not be broken. The manifestation was clear and it
resonated that everything changed for the better.

I began to spread my wings, fragile as they were. I was determined to emerge from the situation
that had restricted me for far too long. The walls of my cocoon were indeed hard to penetrate, but
with resilience and perseverance I knew I could do it. The words of others were constantly
ricocheting in my head. More and more proving to me that I would make it in this time of
uncertainty. I garnered the strength of Armageddon soldiers and emerged victorious out of my
chrysalis. Finally, the world was my oyster. I was now open to the myriad of possibilities I was
previously oblivious to, following which, a majestic butterfly was born, Survival her name.

Soon enough, the price of oil had begun to increase. The economy was once again on an upward
trajectory; business began to thrive and this saw an increase in the Gross Domestic Product of the
country. The government began to offer job vacancies for qualified individuals. Every day, I looked
for vacancies in the Express and Newsday newspapers for two weeks. I never gave up hope. One
day, MJ, an avid reader of the Guardian newspaper called me and showed me a vacancy for the
position of a Spanish teacher. I was overcome with joy. I obtained the position.
My mother and I never knew what it was like to be poor, or what it felt like to be unable to obtain
basic needs for survival until poverty called our names. Poverty broke our spirits through
psychological and mental distress, but it didnt break our will. Poverty was an enigma, but also a
teacher. She taught us that struggles build character. She made us stronger and more resilient, but
most importantly, poverty taught us the importance of not losing ourselves in the face of adversity.

Poverty remains an omnipresent problem in Trinidad and Tobago transcending the community,
national and municipal levels. Poverty reduction strategies therefore depend heavily on both
humanitarian and economic measures. At the community level, we all can help poverty- stricken
individuals by donating food stuff, clothes, and even toys to children during the Christmas season.
At the national level, there is a greater need for the government to provide education about family
planning and contraceptive use to women since they constitute a larger proportion of those
affected by poverty. Through education these women can become empowered and contribute to
the country's economic development. Finally, at the municipal level, skilled labourers can
contribute their skillsets to help build stable homes for the poor through the Habitat for Humanity
initiative.

Poverty can affect anyone, and at any time. She can bring men as strong as Goliath to their knees.
It only takes one act of kindness to effect favourable change in other individuals. A collaborative
approach is of paramount importance in the fight against poverty. Mother Teresa stated that, we
think sometimes that poverty is only being hungry, naked and homeless, but the poverty of being
unwanted, unloved and uncared for is the greatest poverty of all. Let us all become creatures of
positive change in the fight against poverty. Poverty eradication ah we business.