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  • Ivy Hibbert was born in another world, one where women and Negroes could not vote. One where a woman's fate had all to do with what man she linked up with. One where the distance between Kingston, Jamaica and the rest of the world was oh so great.

    As a child, her parents divorced. She lived with her mother who died when Ivy was a teenager. Grandma rarely spoke of her past, except to recount her mother's great beauty. Hardship fashioned her stoic, adaptable, accepting of the hand God dealt. She raised my mother the same way.

    I was lucky enough to share a lot of time with her. I often flew back and forth with her from Palm Coast, FL to New York City when she came for her visits. I spent many late nights with her in the dark, grateful for her stories, wisdom, and her prayers, even if those included unanswered hopes that I wear my hair straightened and less "unruly", that I jettison one or another male suitor, or that I accept Jesus as my savior.
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