‘It all started with a travel story — not a happy travel story. I am an eighth-generation Fogo Islander, the only girl in a family of seven children, born second last, in a house with no running water or electricity. When I was five, there was an outbreak of tuberculosis in our remote community. A boat came with an X-ray machine and we all lined up. I was diagnosed, then taken to the other side of Newfoundland, having to cross a huge province and land mass to a hospital with chicken wire on the windows. My family couldn’t visit me — for a year. Early adversity breeds a kind of grit and early independence.
There wasn’t a lot of adult oversight. It taught me: don’t underestimate children. It wasn’t all bad. One good thing about being in a sanatorium is there were all these books. All kinds of books. I’d grown up in a house where people couldn’t read or write. Of course, we’d sneak up to the adult floor — you can’t control 200 kids. I just devoured them. By the time I got back, I could read and write.
