Of interest to women with Alice Thomas Rosemary Kempadoo A friend remembered
(As part of observances for its 30th anniversary, Stabroek News will be reproducing snippets from its earlier years on page four of each day’s newspaper.)
ROSEMARY KEMPADOO, friend, sister, co-mother, comrade to many died in England on Tuesday November 15. Those of us who fortunate to have the friendship of this incredible woman should be grateful for the opportunity her friendship afforded us, (not only to gain a better perspective of ourselves, but of accepting the bitter with the better, growing and finding peace and joy in this time called LIFE.
I first met Rosemary when I was about eight years old, having been abandoned by my brother on a playing field in New Amsterdam. I was trying desperately to raise a kite and was not succeeding. In typical Rosemary fashion, she recognized my need of help and came to my assistance.
A special bond was then established between Rosemary and myself, in which over the years during times of deep personal pain and better ones too, Rosemary always “looked out for me.”
Vanda Radzik and I were two of her many “special ones” and in our humble way we attempt to pay tribute to this remarkable woman, who touched our lives in a special way and whose memory we shall always cherish.
“THOUGH IT BE BROKEN AGAIN AND AGAIN
STILL IT REMAINS – THE MOON ON THE WATER
Rosemary, you are named for remembrance.
And when we can we will lift your face and hair and hands up into a space of stars and fix a constellation in your name. The measure of your life is thus deserving.
Rosemary Read Kempadoo was born on September 2, 1932, the second child and only daughter of Rosie Lepps Read and John Mc Gregor Read of New Amsterdam, Berbice. Her elder brother is Ian, and Mc Gregor known to everyone as Mackie, is the youngest in the family. Her father died early in her life. Her mother, matriarch of the family was a qualified nurse and for years served as Matron of the New Amsterdam Women’s jail. Her mother was with her, when she died.
AMONGST the most potent of Rosemary’s earliest memories were visits up the Berbice River by boat to the family homestead. Much of her celebrated creativity must have sprung from these first wondrous encounters with the river and the forest light of the landscape skirting the way
She won a government scholarship to Bishop’s High School in Georgetown where her scholastic record was commendable.
Peter Kempadoo was her girlhood sweetheart They became engaged by moonlight in New Amsterdam, significantly on November 15 some 39 years ago. A great cycle was begun with her marriage. Rosemary was mother to nine children, Manganta, Kamala, Shamanie, Roshini, Valmiki, her only son, Natasha, Oonya, Sanjavie and Annushka who was adopted. Her mothering was extraordinary, as was her friendship and sisterhood with hundreds of children, men and women in particular, who so often came seeking her light. Her home was always a place of untold joy and comfort which evoked a quality of love as rare as it was true.
She made the world an exciting place to be in. She loved knowledge and taught her children herself at home for years, gifting to each the power and pleasure of an intellectual curiosity about the world and an urge to explore their own creative energy.
Her excellence as a teacher spilled over into the countless projects and voluntary work she did throughout the Caribbean. These included text book preparation in St. Lucia, villagebased education through art programmes for both children and women in Mahaica, Buxton, Golden Grove, Tiger Bay to name a few.
Her artistry as a vegetarian cook was legendary, and cottage industries involving soy-bean processing, bread making and the use of alternative technology such as biogas made her bottom house in Golden Grove on the East Coast of Demerara an intriguing hive of human activity.
ROSEMARY was, throughout her life a great maker of things. Her craft work filled her own home and her hanging “womb chairs” macramé planters, driftwood and soapstone sculptures today grace many a home of her friends. She literally created art out of nothing — using her hands, scraps of found objects and natural fibres to make things of interest and beauty which reflected in a unique way the textures and shapes of things Guyanese.
CRAFT AND THINGS was one of the more enduring enterprise which was born out of the handicraft and consciousness of herself and her sisters in craft.
The weave of her life was worked through with a richness and delight in everything she did.
It requires poetry and truth to celebrate the saying of you. The power of death, however it comes, is always the most sobering of the contradictions that line our lives: You, Rosemary confronted this most certain of all possibilities with a spirit that shines with strength and willingness to let life take its fill.
Ancient Wisdom advises to ride the wild tiger: Life is like a wild tiger, you can either lie down and let it lay its paw on your head - or sit on its back and ride it. For these past 16 months more than ever Rosemary challenged the wild tiger.
She painted and sculpted and travelled and wrote up until the ending of her life’s story: which is only one ending, since her writing had been accepted for publication a fact which will give her the power to be in touch with all the lives and years she would wish for.
In particular, she explored deeper and carefully the well spring of her spirituality. Her beauty, her grace, her love, her excellence, her courage like the sacred rainbow of legends offer us a shawl of splendour and a pathway into light. The tiger waits at the edge. Countless are the journeys we must make. All things are in the act of change: infinite the transformations within.
Rosemary — a garland for you, in remembrance Come to the edge, he said. They said: we are afraid. Come to the edge, he said, They came and they flew.
A favourite quote of hers from Li Po, expresses all that was Rosemary:
“When a place is so beautiful, walk slowly and let loveliness flow in your soul.