Opinion

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Education in the Caribbean

The smartest person I knew in my school days was dirt poor. She lived in ramshackle wooden house built out of scrap wood and sheets of roofing material. We found out during our school years that she had no running water and no electricity at home and she literally had to study by the light of a kerosene lamp.

Her hygiene was sketchy, her school uniform was a couple sizes too large and stained. I still remember the day she was sent home because she had head lice. No one came to pick her up. She trudged home alone, bowing under the weight of her school bag.

She returned a week later with most of her hair gone. My heart went out to her. I still think about how she had to walk home every day. How she often had nothing to eat. How her earnest face was set in a permanent frown.

I remember her because the last time I saw her, she had become a cardiologist taking care of one of my relatives.

She didn’t remember me and I didn’t bring it up. But I recognized her name. Her face. The way her smile turned down out of habit and how she…