The early morning sun shone persistently through the slightly opened blinds of my bedroom window. My twenty-three month old daughter was tunneling through the bedding on my bed, calling excitedly, “I’m hiding, Mommy! I’m hiding!”

I kept my eyes shut, hoping that by doing so, I would somehow delay the beginning of yet another day filled with toddler games and talk and devoid of adult stimulation. Finally, resigned to the inevitable, I threw the covers off and sat up with a sigh that spoke poignantly of dreams yet unfulfilled.

My daughter’s face peeked out from under the comforter, bright, smiling, and full of hope and life. “I’m hiding, Mommy!” she said with laughter in her voice. I reached out and pulled her tiny body to me, “gotcha!”

She squealed her delight and my day was right again. But somehow, this morning, as I held her to my bosom, I knew that it was time. . . time for me to do something for me. Time for me to give back a little of myself to those who had sacrificed so much for me.

Five years ago I graduated from the University of the West Indies with a Degree in Economics and Management. I remember walking down the aisle to receive my diploma like it was yesterday. I can still taste the joy, the overwhelming sense of accomplishment that propelled me forward, as I imagined that every one of the sea of faces was shining just for me. I was going to make a difference. I was going to change the world. My heart was full as I reached out and happily shook the chancellor’s outstretched hand, clasping the diploma he handed me to my heart.

Two months earlier, I had been hired by the government of my country as a Trade Officer in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Trade and Marketing. I felt sure that this degree, a testament to endless hours of mind-blowing work, of nights filled with econometrics and complicated economic models instead of sleep, was all I needed to help me single-handedly take my country a giant step forward.

I was wrong.

It took only a few months of public service for me to realize that it would take so much more than my new knowledge and optimism to combat a system of global economic oppression that had prevailed for more than my lifetime.

My job was exciting, stimulating. But the constant frustration of trying to right an economy that lacked the financial, technical and human resources needed to survive in a rapidly evolving global economy was threatening to dampen my enthusiasm, in fact, to put out my torch altogether.

My daughter squirmed and I realized suddenly that I still maintained a desperate grip on her. Snapping out of my reverie, I released her tiny body and swung myself out of bed. Eager to start another day bursting with endless possibilities, she slid from the bed, got me my slippers and went charging out into the kitchen. The sound of her little feet pat-a-caking across the hardwood floors, made me smile. Shaking off my presentiment, I set her on the counter so we could make breakfast together. Laughing at her silliness, I allowed this simple act of mothering to soothe away my early morning misgivings, replacing it with true joy and the will to go on.

By Inga Wahle

Labels: Inga Wahle

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