excerpt from TRINIDAD, WEST INDIES (see Aug 31, 2010)
From my window, I could see the square of the village and some of the yards, the unpainted, wooden shack, which passed for the post office, and a general store owned by a family of Moslems. They were very friendly to me in the beginning. They seemed to realize that I was not going to try to maintain a superior or aloof attitude and responded with acceptance and openness. I was invited to their home, which was an apartment over their store. On one visit to their home the grandmother of the house who was dressed in a long white gown moved to the corner of the living room and pulled the first layer of her gown over her head, then began repeating her noonday prayers. It seemed to me like an ingenious way of getting the privacy she wanted in the crowded apartment. The husband of the house was a private school principal.
I have often wondered how the members of the Holy Family had privacy when they were thirteen in a room as prisoners. It must have been very difficult.
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