Caribbean Beat — November/December 2021 (#167)

A taste
of home
For Caribbean people far from home,
Christmas brings a longing for the familiar —
and never more so than during the COVID-19
pandemic, writes Vaughn Stafford Gray
A
family friend recently reminded me that we in the
Caribbean are lucky to call home a place where
people pay to escape their lives for a week. Despite
being called the developing world, the Caribbean is rich — in
culture, in experiences, in history. The soil our ancestors toiled
continues to nourish us, and the sun that burned their backs
warms our sea. Their strife has imbued us with a grit that
allows us to weather any disaster, whether hurricane, volcanic
eruption, political unrest, or pandemic. “Better must come”
is the fulcrum around which our Caribbean culture was established.
If we were to choose a collective noun to describe
Caribbean people, it would be “resilience.” A resilience of
Caribbean people.
The COVID-19 pandemic delivered an economic shock
to the region — most islands depend on tourism — that
further complicated historical issues with which we continue
to contend. “We are now being inundated by the new, while
still being overwhelmed by the old,” said St Lucia Prime Minister
Philip Joseph Pierre in a recent address to United Nations.
Among many things, COVID-19 lifted the kimono on mental
health and isolation, revealing how many of us are struggling.
Before borders closed at the behest of the pandemic, some
Caribbean folk were able to return home. Those who missed
the last flights waited (im)patiently. Finally, a few months later,
some could decamp to homelands that reopened. Some
would have to wait much longer.
Immigration has allowed the Caribbean diaspora to become
one of the largest in the world — the United States alone has
over eight million Caribbean descendants. But living abroad
can be debilitatingly isolating. After living in Toronto for over a
decade, I moved to Halifax, Nova Scotia. Though it was beautiful,
I never felt more alone in my life. Gone was the large
Caribbean community that I could depend on for gossip from
the region, musical accents, and ingredients to make “real”
Sunday dinner.
The ability to have a taste of home is not just about ingredients,
but also the ceremony and bonding that comes through
cooking. Food is an integral part of who we are as
Caribbean people. So when hotels throughout the region
temporarily closed their doors, many donated foodstuffs to
workers and nearby communities. Even when uncertainty
plagues tomorrow, a home-cooked meal is a panacea.
My first (and only) Christmas in Halifax saw me checking my
airline app daily, counting down the days until I’d return home
to Jamaica. It was tracking to be the worst Christmas I ever
had, until I received a registered package. I couldn’t ignore
how heavy the carefully wrapped item was. Under layers of
paper lay a red tin, and inside it was an entire black cake.
It was a gift from my Jamaican friend’s mother back in
Toronto. When we spoke, she said, “You know for us,
Christmas isn’t Christmas without cake.” It’s funny to think of
the power that black cake has. In addition to connecting our
people, reminding us who we are and where we came from,
black cake is our Balm of Gilead.
The British, influenced by a fruit cake recipe that dates back
to Ancient Rome, created plum pudding and took the recipe
to the colonised Caribbean islands. Enslaved cooks were
expected to replicate the recipe despite not having the exact
ingredients. Armed with natural African ingenuity, rum, spices,
and dried fruit, they made something for the “Big House” table
that was a far cry from the original. It was better. And this
improved recipe spread throughout the Dutch-, French-, and
Spanish-speaking Caribbean.
Caribbean ingenuity is infinite. According to the World Bank,
the Caribbean has the “most highly skilled” diaspora globally.
And wherever they are, Caribbean people proudly represent
their homelands and the region. They go abroad for education
or to maximise earning potential, but they never forget who
they are. And many count down to the day they can return.
But the ability to return home is not without complications.
A homecoming can, too, be metaphorical. After all, home is
more than a place; it’s a feeling. And at Christmas time, seeing
a black cake shimmering after being doused with rum can
transport every Caribbean person home. It’s the forgiving family
member ready to embrace us sweetly.
As we enter another holiday season in this, the new normal,
the things that keep us connected to home, now more than
ever, have pride of place. Our accents and passports may
differ, but we are united by our history, culture, and cuisine.
Something as simple as black cake connects us to home. It
connects us to our ancestors, and when hardships appear, it
will offer a slice of hope to future generations.
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