Your Change is Coming Page 2

since I left my parent's house in Jamaica and Lower Ashworth was the only place that welcomed migrants like me. It provided me with a job and a home. Therefore, I am not moving out of here regardless of what other people think of me."

  "Open your eyes mum and take a good look at Lower Ashworth."

  "What's wrong with Lower Ashworth, Naomi?"

  "Nothing is wrong mum. It's a great place to live in," said Naomi sarcastically.

  In Lower Ashworth, stolen cars were frequently being raced and abandoned by joy drivers. The houses were showing the grim appearances of crumbling grey stone cladding. Rats were rampaging through walls and floor boards scaring tenants to voluntarily vacate their homes. The new emerging migrants were renting poor dilapidated properties in need of basic repairs whilst others were sleeping in makeshift garages and outbuildings. Most of the houses in Lower Ashworth had no central heating so people were moving paraffin heaters from one room to the next to keep themselves warm. The windows were sweating with condensation.

  "Lower Ashworth is one the most deprived and decrepit place in the West Midland."

  "Thank you for your running commentary of Lower Ashworth, Moira Stewart at the BBC News at Nine."

  "I really hate this place, mum. It stinks like the knifeman" and "I swear to God I'm going leave Lower Ashworth as soon as I am able to do so."

  "Be careful what you wish for, Naomi. The grass is not always greener on the other side. What shines like silver and gold is not always silver and gold."

  "So what are you saying to me, mum. I can't live anywhere else except in Lower Ashworth."

  "You belong here, Naomi. Don't let the incident in the park stop you from living in Lower Ashworth. Always follow your dreams. You are one of us and you can be yourself here."

  "I can't be myself here. I'm terrified of being here. I want to live in Upper Ashworth."

  "Your father and I wanted to live in suburbia. We were not welcomed there. The estate agents told us we can't live there and they increased the house prices in Upper Ashworth to keep us out."

  "Why."

  "It's a long story. This is our bus stop, love."

  Three

  By mid-day Naomi and her mother walked back quickly from the bus stop to their home. Struggling with anxiety and hay fever Mrs. Ava Brown searched her bag frantically for the house keys.

  "Hurry up, mother."

  "I can't find me keys."

  "It's in your bag."

  "Here it is."

  "Finally, open the door, mum."

  "Shut the door, mum."

  "What's the hurry, girl?"

  "We were robbed mum, remember."

  "You must think I am an idiot."

  "Shut the door quickly, mum."

  The impact of the robbery had a negative effect on Naomi's wellbeing. She was obviously scared and had accidentally soiled her underwear.

  "What is that smell, Naomi?"

  "It's me, mum."

  "Go to the toilet, girl."

  Mrs. Ava Brown bolted the front door and drew open the curtains letting in the sunlight through the kitchen windows. The light was greater than the darkness. Good will overcome evil. She refused to be a prisoner inside of her own home. If the teddy boys had failed to drive her out of town, so would the knifeman fail dismally too.

  "If only your dad was here."

  "Have you flushed the toilet, Naomi?"

  "Yes, mum."

  "Where is your dad now, Naomi?"

  "You know dad is busy doing the Lord's work."

  "Naomi, stop defending him. He should be here to protect us."

  "We don't need dad to protect us. Wasn't it you who told me that we are more than conquerors in Christ Jesus, mum."

  "Yes."

  "Besides, dad might have been hurt."

  "Naomi, he is still the man of the house."

  "But, you are right Naomi, master Jesus is our defender. Pastor Fred can't fight our battles. You must be strong and determine to get your career on track."

  "Yes, mum."

  There was a sudden knock on the door which jumped them both. Mrs. Ava Brown held her chest and breathed out gently as if she was having a heart attack.

  "Who is it, Naomi?"

  "I don't know, mum. I don't want to speak to anyone."

  "Open the door, girl-child."

  "I can't face the outside world, mum. I'm not going to open the door, mum."

  "You can't live your life as a hermit, Naomi. For god sake open the door."

  An anxious Naomi walked slowly towards the door against her will and her emotional well-being. She nervously unbolted the door holding back tears and keeping her hands from shaking.

  "Who is it?"

  "It's me, Mantel."

  "Do you want me?"

  There was no answer from Mantel. So, Naomi opened the door ajar not allowing Mantel in. He stared more intensely at Naomi sombre face. He was hypnotized by her smooth dark, brown skin and her ebony eyes glaring at him. Mantel admired Naomi wholeheartedly. He loved her boldness but he was afraid of her feistiness. Naomi smiled openly at Mantel.

  "Let him in, if you must," shouted Mrs. Ava Brown

  Mantel lived nearby in the neighbourhood. He was a year older than Naomi and he was a youth deacon in her dad's church. He had a calming influence on her but he was immensely shy. Mantel avoided eye to eye contact with Naomi. He was immature with girls and was not brave enough to take up the challenge. Mantel legs felt heavier and they were stuck within the door entrance.

  "Would you like to comb my hair, Mantel?"

  "Why."

  "Do you want to run away with me, Mantel?"

  "No."

  "Leave the boy alone, Naomi," shouted Mrs. Ava Brown.

  "Come inside, Mantel and tell me why you are here?"

  "Hello Mrs. Brown. Mum baked you toto cake.

  "Tell your mum, thank you for me."

  "No problem, Mrs. Brown."

  "Do you want to stay for dinner, Mantel?"

  "No thank you, Mrs. Brown."

  "You can go home now, Mantel."

  "Yes, Mrs. Brown."

  Naomi walked Mantel back to the front door. Mantel felt a mixture of embarrassment and exhilaration when Naomi placed her lips over his right ear and quietly whispered into it.

  "Do you like me?"

  He departed quietly from the house refusing to respond Naomi's playful tease.

  "Has he gone, Naomi?"

  "Yes, mum."

  "Good. Then listen to me, girl. You must use this awful experience to make a difference in the world."

  "I hate my life, mum."

  "God will wipe away the tears from your eyes, Naomi and He will exchange your hatred for love."

  Mrs. Ava Brown held Naomi hand tightly to reassure her that everything would be alright.

  "I can't do it, mum. I don't want to speak to anyone."

  "Your pain will heal in time, love. You must think beyond your distress and have a vision to be a blessing for others."

  "What do you want me to do, mum?"

  "What are you passionate about?"

  "I wanted to be a social worker. I wanted to protect the most vulnerable people in our society and to make their world a safer place to live in."

  "Good for you, my daughter. Do it, then."

  Mrs. Ava Brown wasn't going to give up on her dreams for Naomi. No mugging was going to rob her of the vision which she held so clearly for her daughter. It was a temporary setback. She shared her vision with Naomi of how she wanted to improve her own living standards when she was a girl.

  "My dad died when I was fifteen. We were really poor living on a few dollars a day. I used to walk on the rocky hills of Beniston with my bare feet. I couldn't afford to buy new shoes."

  "You are not going to tell me about your life story again and again," chuckled Naomi.

  "You haven't heard anything yet, dear."

  "Things were hard back home. There was hardly any money going around in those days. We wore pass me down clothes and ate
leftover food."

  "You were poor, mum."

  "We were very poor?"

  "We had pit toilets when I was a little girl living in Jamaica."

  "I know that, mum."

  "We are now in England, mum and things are a lot different."

  "Yes my dear, you have it much easier here."

  "Why don't you sit on the sofa, mum and rest your legs for a while."

  "I could do with shut eyes."

  Four

  Five years have passed by since the mugging and a sixth form Naomi stared out of her bedroom window overlooking the industrial landscape of Lower Ashworth. Most days were the same. Each day followed a similar pattern. Boys were playing football on the streets and they would be using plastic bins as makeshift goal posts. The girls would be doing cartwheels on the communal land. But today was an exceptional day in the life of Lower Ashworth. The unusually arctic weather conditions in August kept the streets cleared of boys and girls. Everyone was saying if the weather forecast holds out much longer, Lower Ashworth would be a much safer neighbourhood. That was all about to change for the worst. It was too good to be true. The feel good factor was short lived. We didn't need to wait too long before a fatal tragedy shocked the citizens of Lower Ashworth and brought the world to its doorstep.

  It all started when large clumps of snow slid off the BT phone Kiosk and two dark silhouette figures angrily emerged from the booth. The security lights of the grey stone wall church building shone bright enough to briefly highlight their facial features. The man's hair was matted and his black long hairy beard was smudged with white yogurt. His partner wore a full length brown fur coat with matching hat. She painted her dark black cheeks with a bright red lipstick and had replaced her missing eyebrows with the same lipstick.

  They walked unsteadily onto the snowy ground, a few yards closer to the church building. The man's hair was matted and his dark black skin was covered with scabies and his body was shivering with cold but he was able to help the woman across the icy surface.

  The shorter woman