WHOSE LITTLE GIRL IS THIS ? (DE QUIÉN ES ESTA NIÑA?)

Acknowledgements

To God for making everything possible and to my beloved husband Charles for his love and support, also for being the example of what a man should do and be. For encouraging me not to stop writing, when I didn’t want to anymore. To Sybil Corbin our pre-marital counselor who was the first person that offered to read my book she encouraged me. To my editor Bonnie Granat for all the hard work, and for her ability to look beyond her culture to understand mine. To Pam Foster (author) for being so available to me and sharing her knowledge, and experience she inspired me. 

To my sisters Jenny, Iris, Milly, and Marta for just being my sisters, I couldn’t have finished this book without them in my life. To my cousin Lisa who read my book in its rough form, her feedback was encouraging; she will always be my cuz.  To my children Maria, Angel, and Jayson who encouraged me, and supported me even when I wouldn’t let them read the book draft. To my wonderful daughter-in-laws Akilah (Kiki) Ortiz, Shujuana (Chante) Furlow, and Tara Miles-Ortiz, your support at different times have been immeasurable.

To L. Denise Edwards my best friend who inspired me to be strong. To my mother and grandmother for being who they are for without them I would not be. To all my grandchildren who give me such joy just to see their amazing faces, especially Faith Macaylah, Tamaya, and Jaylah. I want you all to be strong brave independent women one day.

To all my female friends’ and co workers you all gave me a piece of you which I took and grew from. To my brothers Juan, Charlie, Eddie, and brother in- laws Gary, and Melvin, who are examples of what respectful, loving men, should be. To Pastor Marlin Harris who taught me God’s word in a way that I could understand, and grow spiritually.

Table of Contents

1       My Journey                                                                          1

2       Freedom                                                                              13

3       A Constant Reminder                                                        21

4       Trouble in Paradise                                                            27

5       Don’t Do as I Do, Do as I Say                                          35  

6      Grandpa is Back and He`s Not Alone                                41

7       Identity Crisis                                                                     53

8       I Don’t Want to Be an Adult                                              67

9       You’re a Woman Now                                                        71

10     The Affair                                                                           77

11     Consequences                                                                     89

12     El Carro (The Car)                                                             97

13     Why Wasn’t I Told?                                                         109

14     Hostile Takeover                                                             121

15     Strange Occurrences                                                        151

16     La Familia (The Family)                                                   165

17     The Beginning of the End                                                173

18     The Healing Process                                                        183

19     A Prince Charming?                                                         193

20     The Straw That Broke the Camel`s Back                       205

21        Let the Games Begin                                                    219

22        A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing?                                         229

23        Just Me and God!                                                         249

24        The Real Prince Charming                                           263

25        The Truth Will Be Revealed                                        277

            Photo Album                                                                  295

            About The Author                                                       303  

One

My Journey

 was born in Holyoke, Massachusetts on November 2 1958. In the Hispanic cultural tradition, November 2 is the Day of the Dead (El Dia de los Muertos). The Day of the Dead is a family holiday for the remembrance of ancestors whose spirits are believed to visit Earth once a year. Most Americans would think that it’s just like Halloween, but it is not. It is a day of reflection, a chance for families to think about those family members who they have lost.

My parents are from the West Indies Caribbean island of Puerto Rico, which is a self-governing commonwealth associated with the United States. Puerto Ricans are U.S. citizens but can’t vote for the U.S. president. The island has no representation in the U.S. Congress, either, but it does have a governor. I consider myself multiracial. My mother’s father (José) was of African slave descent, and my mother’s mother (Marcelina) was of Taíno Indian descent. My father’s family was of Spanish descent.

During the early eighteenth century, Spain controlled Puerto Rico. As was done in many other places throughout history, the ruling population in Puerto Rico (the Spanish) took the local women as brides, and the population increased. The local population consisted of Taíno Indians Later on, as more labor was needed to maintain crops and build roads, African slaves were imported from Africa. Most of the male Taíno Indian males were slaughtered by the Spanish; it was pure genocide. Local stories handed down through the centuries, however, tell us that many Taíno men were able flee to the mountains and that many of them in fact survived.

The original inhabitants of Puerto Rico were the Taíno Indians, who called the island Boriken, Puerto Ricans call themselves Boricuas or Puertorriqueños. A genetics professor at the University of Puerto Rico, Juan Carlos Martinez Cruzado, Ph.D., recently completed a research project funded by the National Science Foundation, an independent U.S. federal agency, whose purpose was to determine the continental origin of the mitochondrial DNA of Puerto Ricans. His analyses of some 300 hair root samples from Puerto Ricans chosen randomly by a computer identified 62 percent as Amerindian, 30 percent as African blacks, and 8 percent as Caucasian, results that cast doubt on the notion that the Taínos disappeared from Puerto Rico by the end of the sixteenth century. His findings instead confirm the local stories handed down in Puerto Rican culture of their survival.

My grandfather José, (my mother’s father) was a tall, thin, proud, dark-skinned black man. We called him Abuelo (Grandfather). He was a quiet man—I hardly ever heard his voice travel further than a few feet. I loved Abuelo; I thought he was cool, strong, and proud, and most important of all, he loved me. Abuelo cut sugarcane for a living and had a reputation in his barrio (village) of being a man you wouldn’t want to cross. As a young adult I heard rumors from family members of my abuelo having cut up and possibly murdering a few men. All I knew was that whenever there was a pig or hog problem, the barrio people always called my abuelo. Abuelo was also the barrio hog slayer.

I was once allowed to see Abuelo in action. I was around eight years old. I knew there was a big event happening, but I didn’t know what was going on. I remember looking out the window and seeing Abuelo coming down the street in his hometown of Caguas, Puerto Rico, with a folded brown sack tied around his waist, walking proud and tall. I remember feeling pride when I saw him. When he got to the house of my padrino (godfather), where I was at the time, I was told to go to the back yard.

There in the yard was a huge hog tied up and about ten of the local men from the barrio drinking beer and socializing. The hog must have weighed at least 400 lbs. Abuelo opened his brown suede sack and unfolded a series of sharp knives. Abuelo walked over to the hog and with the accuracy of a surgeon used a long, sharp knife to stab the hog in its heart. The hog started squealing, and someone put a pan underneath the wound to catch the blood for use later in making blood sausages. That’s when I lost it. I freaked out. I started screaming and running, and the men started yelling, “Get her, get her!” I remember seeing their eyes. Their eyes seemed angry. I really thought they wanted to tie me up and stab my heart, too.

My mother grabbed me and brought me into the house. She calmed me down and explained that if a hog is being killed and someone feels pena (sorry) for the hog, the hog won’t die. I later realized that what she had told me was Puerto Rican superstition, but at the time I bought it and I calmed down.

My grandmother Marcelina they called her Dona Marcela, (my mother’s mother) was an Amerindian descendent (Taíno Indian). She was short, tan-skinned, and had long black hair. I thought she was the strongest person I’d ever met in my life. We called her Abuela (Grandmother). She spoke in a very loud, almost yelling voice and had her own language, Spanish and Indian mixed together. Abuela was illiterate; she couldn’t read or write and used an “x” to sign her name. Abuela also couldn’t tell the time of day or the time of the year as we do with a clock and a calendar. She knew the time by the way the sun rose and how it positioned itself during the day until sundown. That’s exactly how I learned to tell time. Abuela’s language made her a jíbara. One of the most prominent Puerto Rican cultural images is that of el jíbaro, a country person from the mountainous interior. The jíbaro is an idealized folk hero, common in island literature and the arts. The jíbaro continues to fascinate artists of various disciplines, and the term is used on a daily basis mostly as a sign of affection, but occasionally as an insult, as when someone in America might nastily refer to a person as a “dumb hillbilly.” Jíbaros were the few Amerindians who escaped to the mountains when the Spaniards took over and inter-married with the poor Spanish farmers. (I learned that if you call a Puerto Rican a jíbaro you had better have a very close relationship with them so that they don’t take it as an insult.)

Abuela was also the wisest women I ever met, it seemed. When she said something, it was full of knowledge, experienced knowledge; the kind you just know in your heart is true. Abuela had three children with Abuelo: one boy, Francisco (called Paco or Paquito) and two girls, Gregoria (called Goya or Gogita) and Baltazara (called Sara or Sarita). Abuelo José and Abuela lived in Puerto Rico during the Great Depression of the twentieth century. Abuela washed and ironed clothes for others to make ends meet.

In 1948 Puerto Rican governor Luis Muñoz Marin, together with the U.S. government, began “Operation Bootstrap,” which relieved the unemployment problem. This project provided for the construction of factories on the island and gave tax exemptions to U.S. companies that invested in Puerto Rican economic development. The companies introduced millions of dollars into the Puerto Rican economy and made it one of the wealthiest. Puerto Rican migration to the mainland was also encouraged. For example, the Puerto Rico Department of Labor recruited workers from Puerto Rico to work on farms; thousands of workers were flown to Bradley Field airport in Windsor Locks, Connecticut, to work in and around the state producing tobacco and apples. It was a win–win situation. A little history: The United States staged the attack on Spain in Cuba in 1898 in order to have a reason to kick Spain out of the Caribbean area. Puerto Rico was a part of Spain and had been so since 1492. The United States had wanted Puerto Rico because of its strategic military significance.

My grandparents’ second daughter and the baby of three was Sara (Sarita), who was tall, slim, and tan-skinned. Sara was a natural beauty, with Indian and African features. Sara was very intelligent, feisty, proud, and ready to fight anyone at the drop of a hat. At age 15 Sara wouldn’t let anyone get away with anything, including her parents. Her father, Abuelo (my grandfather), had a few close friends in the barrio. One of them was Juan Cruz Flores (Cruzito). Don Cruzito was a tall, thin man with an olive-complexion. Don Cruzito was in his late twenties, a handsome, soft-spoken, and intelligent man. He would play dominos with Abuelo, especially when he came home for a visit from Neva Yok (New York).

Everyone in the barrio called the United States “Neva Yok,” although Don Cruzito lived and worked in Massachusetts. Don Cruzito went to Puerto Rico any chance he got. During one of Don Cruzito’s homecomings fifteen years earlier, Abuela had just delivered their third and last child, Sarita. Don Cruzito marveled at the baby girl. He thought she was the prettiest baby he had ever seen, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her. That’s where I come into the picture, about 19 years later. My mother is Sara (Sarita) and Don Cruzito is my father.

Don Cruzito, now 35, had just lost his eighth wife while she was delivering his tenth child. Don Cruzito had been married seven times and now was a widower for the second time due to childbirth. He was looking for a new wife to help him raise his daughter Gloria. Her mother died during childbirth ten years earlier. Gloria was in school and was turning ten years old. The newborn baby, Rosa (Rosita), was staying with her maternal grandmother, Dona Cisa. Don Cruzito lived in Massachusetts; he had a good job, and he didn’t work in the tobacco fields. He was now bilingual (Spanish and English). All the girls in the barrios were wishing he would be interested in them to be his children’s mother.

But Don Cruzito was interested only in Sara (Sarita). Because Abuelo José was his best friend, it was easy for Don Cruzito to ask for Sara’s hand in marriage. Sara was 16 years old, a woman by Puerto Rican cultural standards then. Abuelo was honored and thrilled but Sarita was not. She said no, and she ran and hid, and cried and carried on, until Don Cruzito left their home. Abuelo was upset and embarrassed by Sara’s behavior. Sara was “the baby,” and things had changed in Puerto Rico since Sara (Sarita) was born in 1939. The economy had gotten better, and those families that had a few children were better off than they had been earlier. Abuela had three children, and after the Depression, the family was considered middle class. Sara was raised with all her needs and wants being met, and she was opinionated and free-spirited. Abuela pleaded with Abuelo to let Sara continue school and maybe marry later. The time came for Don Cruzito to return to the States, and he asked to speak to Sara privately.

He told her about his home in the mainland United States and gave her a sealed envelope containing his address. He told Sarita that whenever she wanted to go to the states she should just write to him and he would send her a ticket. Sarita accepted the envelope, told him she understood, and went running off. She was a handful! Neither Abuelo nor Abuela could control that wild child. By the way, Sara hated being called Sarita, and Don Cruzito was the only one that called her that. Sara skipped school; she cursed, smoked cigarettes, and fought a lot. She

was a very wild child.

According to my abuela, Sara became very ill when she was around 16 years old. Sara would have screaming fits and would rip her clothes off. Abuelo and Abuela didn’t know what to do with their “baby” daughter. Abuelo would beat Sara, but it didn’t work. One day after Sara skipped school Abuela tied Sara to a tree by her wrists. Abuela punctured holes in a few tin cookie lids with a knife. All over the inside of the lids were sharp pieces of metal sticking up. She made Sara kneel on the lids tied to the tree all day until she begged for mercy and her kneecaps were dripping blood. Abuela untied her from the tree, poured alcohol on her knees, and spoke to her about her attitude. The next day Sara was up to the same behavior. She was getting worse, and no amounts of punishment seem to matter. One day Abuela found Sara ripping her clothes off in anger and screaming. Abuela went up to her and yelled at her to stop screaming. Sara started screaming more and started rolling on the ground, which had turned to mud due to heavy rains that day. Sara was rolling and screaming uncontrollably.

Abuela was nearly panic-stricken, because talking or beating Sara didn’t work. So she turned to her cultural belief in Espiritismo (Spiritism).

According to Mario J. Núñez Molina, Professor of Psychology, Espiritismo (Spiritism) is one of the indigenous healing systems that were used by a significant number of Puerto Ricans as an alternative to the professional health system. An epidemiological study done in Puerto Rico found that 18% of the Puerto Rican population consults spiritualist healers to resolve emotional problems (Hohmann, Richeport, Marriot, Canino, Rubio-Stipec & Bird, 1990). Several studies on Espiritismo have concluded that spiritualist healers are effective in the treatment of several mental health problems (Garrison, 1977a, 1977b; Comas-Díaz, 1981; Harwood, 1977; Koss, 1992, 1980; Núñez Molina, 1990; Pérez y Mena, 1991).

Espiritismo is practiced by Puerto Ricans living on the island and those living in the United States. It is utilized by lower-class as well as upper-class individuals (Núñez Molina, 1987). Espiritismo functions as a religion for some, as a healing system used in moments of crisis for others, and as a “philosophy” and “science” for those who are academically oriented. Along with many other African customs and beliefs, Espiritismo (Spiritualism) still plays an important role in Puerto Rican folklore.

The foundation of the spiritualist belief system is the acknowledgement of a spirit world that is constantly interacting with the “material world” (mundo material). Espiritismo includes the concept of communication between the spirits those who have died and living human beings. Espiritismo dates back to the fifteenth century when its earliest practitioners, members of the Yoruba people of West Africa, were brought to Puerto Rico as slaves. They were not allowed to practice their traditional religion (Santería), so their priests, called Santeros, hid their rituals under the guise of Roman Catholic figures.

Abuela was a devoted Catholic, but she used both belief systems. She took Sara to an espiritista (spiritualist) to see if they could help her. Abuelo did not go with them, because he thought espiritistas were a waste of time and that a good whipping would take the bad spirits out of his daughter. According to my mother, Abuela took her to spiritualist after spiritualist, to no avail and at a tremendous cost. One day a neighbor told my grandmother about a spiritualist who was located a long way out in the country near another island city. Abuela and Sara got on the first bus they could find early the next morning and headed to that city.

According to Sara, the man lived way up in the woods. They had to walk on foot about a mile on a dirt road to get to the house. Sara states that she argued and verbally fought with all the other spiritualists and would eventually run away. When she entered the man’s house she saw an old man in a wheelchair. He was light-skinned and had a peaceful aura around him. His house was very humble, containing only a table and two chairs in the main room. Sara could see the small kitchen and a door that led to a simple bed in the next room. The house was so small that Sara could see all of it from the doorway. The old man had white hair and was starting to grow a beard. He told Sara matter-of-factly that he was expecting her. Sara started the same routine she used with the other spiritualists, yelling, calling him a phony, and so on.

The man asked her, just as calmly as if she were acting normally, why she didn’t believe in spiritualists. Sara replied that it was because “you are all phonies.” The old man asked Sara if she would consider making a deal with him. Sara looked interested, and so the old man said, “If I can convince you that I am for real, would you promise not run away and would you trust me?” Sara agreed, but she knew there wasn’t anything he could say that would change her mind.

The old man asked Sara to place her hands on the table and leave them there while he prayed. Sara did so and waited. Nothing happened. Sara started telling the man,”See, you’re a phony,” and when she tried to move her hands, she could not lift them from the table. They were stuck. Sara started getting scared. She screamed, “What are you doing to me? Mami, help me!” The old man smiled and told Sara to calm down. ”Do you believe me now?” he asked. Sara calmed down and said, “Yes.” The man then said, “You are thinking of running. Don’t run.” My mother states that she was paralyzed. She literally couldn’t move her hands. Stunned at what had happened, she gave up and listened to the old man.

According to Sara and Abuela, the old man told them that someone in the village had put a curse on Sara. Sara was shocked when the old man described with specific details who the woman was. Sara recognized that it was her neighbor. Sara’s neighbor was about five years older than Sara, around 22 years old. The old man told Sara that when she went home that night she should look in the woman’s window, and he told her exactly which window he meant. “Through the far window to the right side of the house,” the old man told Sara, “you will see her chanting over a voodoo doll with a piece of cloth that belongs to you.” The old man asked Sara not to approach the woman, and told her that he just wanted her to see for herself what was happening.

Obviously, he didn’t know Sara very well, or did he? That evening Sara ran to look in the window, and just as the old man said, there was the neighbor chanting to a doll. Sara jumped in through the window, grabbed the women by her hair, and started punching and scratching her. The woman started screaming for help. By the time Abuela got to Sara, the neighbor was pretty beaten up. Sara then proceeded to tear the altar down.

After this incident Sara went back to see the old man. He asked her what she did. Sara suspected he already knew what she did, and he did. The old man told Sara he had out-of-body experiences. He told Sara he had visited her last night. Sara thought he was crazy, because he couldn’t even walk. The old man proceeded to tell Sara in much detail about what her house, the yard, and even her bedroom looked like.

What I read and learned about an out-of-body experience (OBE) is that it is a feeling of departing from one’s physical body and observing both one’s self and the world from outside one’s body. Apparently the experience is quite common in dreams, daydreams, and memories. Sara was a believer now, and she and the old man became very close. The old man told Sara that she was going to be fine and gave her some prayers and some jars containing material for cleansing baths. Cleansing baths using manufactured combinations of plant material and perfume are used to create a “bath tea” when boiled in water. The resulting liquid can then be applied to the body from a bowl or basin, or added directly to a tub of water. The belief is that these baths will cleanse the body and keep evil spirits away. After a few weeks, her symptoms were somewhat relieved.

Sara was still having behavioral problems, but she wasn’t ripping her clothes off, running, and screaming anymore. Her relationship with the old man continued until the day he died, a year later. Sara really missed him, and at times she wondered if he could still visit her.

There was a family that lived across the street from Abuelo’s and Abuela’s house named Ortiz. There were five children in that family; the family’s socioeconomic level was middle to upper class. They had three boys and two girls. I am not certain what the problem was, but Mr. Ortiz did not want Sara hanging around his boys. Sara was darker-skinned than they were. The Ortiz family was all white, with blue or green eyes. Of course, Sara parents were of black and Indian heritage. Whatever the reason as far as Mr. Ortiz was concerned Sara was not a desirable mate for any of his sons. It seemed that Sara was a very good friend of one of the Ortiz boys, Abundio, who was handsome, smart, and had recently joined the U.S. Navy.

Sara and Abundio were very close; their parents were not aware of how close. Abuelo was a proud black man, and if someone didn’t like his family, they didn’t like them. There was friction between the two families. All the kids were secretly friends. Mr. Ortiz was a tough, strict man. He had a small build, very fair skin, and baby-blue eyes that turned to slits when he was angered. Mr. Ortiz would beat his boys and girls if they didn’t behave. Hitting and beating children was normal in those days, as was beating or hitting your wife; it was a husband’s right and duty.

Mrs. Ortiz was a warm, sweet lady. She was short, soft-spoken, and also very fair-skinned, with sky-blue eyes. She liked Abuela; they were also secretly friends. Apparently, the woman who tried to put a spell on Sara was in love with Abundio. Sara’s relationship with Abundio threatened the woman, and she had resorted to voodoo. Sara stated that after a few years the woman who had put a hex on her could be seen around the open invitation. She didn’t even like him romantically, but she felt she had no choice and that he was the answer to her problem. So she decided to write to Don Cruzito and ask him if she could still come to the States to be with him. When Don Cruzito received the letter, he was thrilled and excited.

Sara had asked him in the letter not to tell her parents anything. Don Cruzito was confused, but he decided to do as she asked. A week later the ticket arrived; Sara had Don Cruzito mail the ticket to a friend’s house. Sara packed a bag, cashed the money order Don Cruzito sent her along with her ticket, and ran away from home to the mainland the United States of America. Sara was 17 years old, tall, thin, and tan-skinned, with long, thick black hair down to her shoulders. She had the chiseled Indian features of her mother and the height of her father. She had a lot of pride and a lot of anger. Sara was a classic beauty and a ticking time bomb. She immensely disliked her father; she hated his skin color, his African features, and especially his controlling ways. Her father (Abuelo) beat Abuela and his children. Abuelo was “the man of the house,” and there was no democracy or any debates. Abuelo was the lord and master of his home and family; that’s just the way it was in those days. Sara vowed never to let any man beat or control her like her father beat and controlled her and her mother. On the plane to the United States, Sara felt relieved that her father couldn’t beat barrio with torn clothes, talking to herself and just completely out of her mind. Sara said that it was sad to see her that way, but she deserved it. One day years later the woman approached Sara. Sara initially thought she had gotten better; she seemed normal. The woman apologized to Sara, and then, as if awakening from a trance, she acted as if she didn’t even see Sara and continued her conversation with someone who wasn’t there.

Sara had become very nervous. She was told that Abundio, her best friend who was in the Navy, had gotten into a bar brawl when he was off-duty and that something went wrong. Abundio had completely lost touch with reality. The Navy decided to section-eight him. The term “section eight” refers to a discharge from the United States military due to being mentally unfit for service. After a few months of evaluation, Abundio was transferred to a base in Puerto Rico and then sent home. In the meantime, Sara was upset because she felt she had lost a friend, and her father was pressuring her to stop grieving for Abundio. Sara felt alone and abandoned. Sara was impulsive, and she was desperate. She remembered that Don Cruzito had given her his address.