Reconnecting with my cultural roots

Not many people know that a significant portion of my cultural heritage stems from Guyana and the West Indies. My married name gives a completely different impression, and there aren't a lot of external indicators that provide hints. I have to admit that I don't feel a strong link to Guyanese cultural traditions or practices. My parents immigrated to Canada from what they knew as British Guiana in 1969 and we (all of my siblings and I) were born in Canada. My mom and dad chose not to return to the country of their birth and I never visited. Guyana was a place we heard stories about but didn't know intimately.

During our introductory sessions to our specialist teacher PLCs, we were encouraged to consider the various aspects of our identities. It's not like I kept my Caribbean heritage a secret, but I never bothered to talk about it much. Other staff members have similar geographical backgrounds; I wonder if this shared ancestry makes us feel more understood or even if it makes any difference at all.

This weekend, I was compelled to delve much more into my relationship with Guyana because of two tasks.

The first was assisting my parents with making garlic pork. Garlic pork is a traditional Portugese-Guyanese Christmas delicacy. It takes a great deal of effort to prepare. This blog came in handy because I was able to refer back to the procedures for creating garlic pork. Thank goodness I recorded the instructions when I did. My parents are now 83 and 79 and struggle to remember all the steps needed (and even obtain the proper required ingredients). I wondered why we go to all this work to make this dish that is definitely an acquired taste, but I realize because it's one of the few cultural traditions we adopted and maintained. We didn't have enough pork to make more than a small jar, so the next day I bought some more pork and attempted to prepare a batch on my own.

I took several photos of the various steps I attempted solo, but for brevity's sake I'm just including me at work and the final product. My principal said he would gladly accept a small jar. I hope he realizes how ... aromatic? pungent? fragrant? ... it will be. (Garlic pork must be boiled and then fried before eating.) It's also important to drink gin while eating it, otherwise people belch frequently and with a distinct garlic stench. (So yes, if you are Portugese-Guyanese and Christian, chances are you are going to Christmas Day Mass either smelling of garlic or a bit liquored up or both.)

The second prompt that led me to get reacquainted with all things Guyanese was the Guyana Christian Charities Luncheon. This event is organized by a group of Guyanese-Canadians who raise money for St. Joseph's Hospital back in Guyana. For the past eight years, they organize a huge luncheon with raffles and entertainment. For the past three years, I've bought my parents tickets to attend but usually my role is to drive them to and from the party. This year, my dad was "feeling poorly" and my mom needed company to go with her, so I took my father's place.

Despite being an extrovert, it's a little intimidating to enter a large hall not knowing anyone. It's also a very bittersweet experience because my mom forgets things easily. (For instance, I had to reassure her repeatedly that no, she did not drop her purse in my car; we made a point of not bringing it so she wouldn't misplace it.) Thankfully, Guyanese people (typically - I'm making sweeping generalizations here) are very chatty, gregarious and friendly. I was able to make small talk with people at our table. When people approached my mother or when she had a vague sense of knowing someone, I'd ask for their name and how they knew my mom.

I was also so grateful for the adult children of the older attendees who conversed with me while my mother was chatting with old friends - they reminded me that I'm not the only one dealing with aging parents and all the complex negotiations and situations that come with these life changes.

These casual conversations helped me notice that I am influenced by my Guyanese heritage, even though I never lived there. The terms I use (like a slice of orange being a "feg") or the food I know (like cheese straws, which for the life of me I cannot make), or even the places (like First and Light Street, which is where my mother grew up in Georgetown) are all part of this Guyanese "thing that's not a thing" for me.

My husband shared an earlier observation - when I bought the tickets, from a lovely man named Noel who came to my house to drop them off, my husband said that my tone of voice and inflection mirrored that of Noel. I had always maintained that I just mimicked the accent of my parents, aunts, uncles and cousins. I didn't realize that I had, unconsciously internalized some vocal intonations that rose to the surface while in conversation.

I had a lot of other things to do on Sunday December 15, but my mom enjoyed herself so much that it was worth the detour. I still have to figure out what this means for me as an educator and as an individual, but I've got time to reflect.