Lil Eddie

Lets’s go back…….I believe it was summer of 1988, and Ya-Yow was making one of her pop-up visits. Her mood was such that she seemed irritated. Now remember , by now we had moved within walking distance of the Banana Boat. Ya-Yow showed up demanding that we take a walk, take a walk with her to see Babalu. She rounded all 8 of us up and to the Banana Boat we went. I’m amazed that even in her worse physical, mental and likely spiritual state, she maintained this desire to be attached to him. As she did in the beginning of their relationship, she was headed to the Banana Boat to see what he was doing. I wonder if she just wanted to see him or if she was still interested in who was in his life. This always points to the issues I’ve had with myself regarding relationships with men. How I would, at times, sacrifice all of me for part of them and found it difficult to let go of the little piece I was given.

The youngest boy at the time “Lil Eddie” wanted no parts of the Banana Boat adventure. Before I go on, I have to tell you about “Lil Eddie’s begginnigs. He was born August 31, 1984. His former name is Edison Kareem Buford, born the same day as Babalu, but only partially named for him because Babalu’s eldest son and child is a junior. Anyway, “Lil Eddie” was born during the time we were in the foster home. Ya-Yow’s mental illness had progressed causing her to abandon him in the hospital without a name. This forced hospital authorities to call him “Baby Boy Buford” . “Lil Eddie” was eventually sent to the foster home to live with my brother closest to me and my brother born the year before. To this day, I don’t know how “Lil Eddie” ended up with a name.

Unwillingly, he went along with us. I imagine the trip being a miserable one for “Lil Eddie” as his ear was pinned between Ya-Yow’s fingers the entire time. She loved to pinch. As we walked up the blocks, I noticed a lady in my periphery. She was standing to my right, up against her yard fence. Because she was having a conversation with someone, I didn’t think she was paying attention to the herd of children passing by with their not so mentally stable mother pinching the hell out of the four year old’s ear. But she was. Before I knew it, Babalu was telling us that we were going to be picked up for church, and that we better be ready when the chaech wan (pronounced church van, but Babalu still had a thick Bahamian accent) got there.

The following Sunday morning, I woke every one up bright and early so that we were ready when the church van arrived. We didn’t have much, but we made do with the few pieces of clothes we had. And at around ten o clock, there it was, the church van. Lol, it was a doo-doo brown van with only one row of bench seating and 2 chairs positioned in the back, accommodating any extra riders. The woman driving the van seemed pleasant. She smiled, welcoming us on the van, welcoming us to “God Is Love Prayer and Mission Center”.

The church sat in the area Miamians now know as Midtown. I believe 36th street and N. Miami Avenue. The church was small, accommodating 40-50 people. We entered the church from the rear, encountering the area that held the kitchen. To the left was a door that led us into the sanctuary. It was filled with pews and chairs in the back and decorated as if the church was doing the best with what they had. It was far from elaborate. The minister was a good friend of the woman driving the van. Her daughter also attended the church, along with a host of other blood and non-blood relatives.

The service started out with praise and worship. The songs were spirit filled, not only because they were gospel songs, but because of the way they were sang. I was in awe . They clapped, banged and shook tambourines and testified about how good God had been to them. The most captivating part of the service was when people would fall out “in the spirit”. I was like, woooo. The minister would be speaking to someone face to face, take healing oil (which I found out later was nothing more than Pompean Olive Oil), place it on their foreheads, making a cross, and bam, they were on the floor. And if it were a woman, the “Mother of the Church” would hurry and cover her exposed thighs with a handkerchief. I hadn’t experienced anything like it. Although Babalu was Catholic and had been an alter boy as a child, he had never exposed us to religion. I guess he thought it was time. He thought it was time for God to give us what he hadn’t. Little did he know or understand……