Outside children. A common occurrence in the Caribbean. You go to bed knowing of one brother and sister then wake up to find you now have a few more siblings to add to the family tree. Over time you get to know each other. You visit. You hang out. You gyaf over the phone. And you like them, you really do. But they’re not really a part of the family. They’re not a part of the inner circle. They don’t get the jokes the family tells. They don’t have the same memories so can’t reminisce with the crew. When they come over they are welcomed but they are still very much a visitor in your home. Is so I have felt about my status as an American of Caribbean descent. Like the red-headed stepchild that everyone loves but doesn’t fully embrace as a true member of the family.

I’ve been reminded of this separation many times over the years. When hanging with home born family or friends, in the midst of a conversation about some Guyanese place or tradition, I give my two cents and someone replies ‘but you is a Yankee what you know bout dat eh?’ Or at a family function, when everyone is queuing up to the table, laden with dishes of good Guyanese food, I turn up my nose at the channa or black pudding or souse and someone calls out, ‘Y’all Americans ain’t know good food!’ Is pure nugget and fries and hamburgers y’all does eat.’ And everyone laughs. I smile and chuckle a bit too but really I feel embarrassed and dismissed. Like the new girl at school who got denied when she tried to sit at the popular kids table.

But over the years, as I’ve gotten older. I’ve pretty much gotten over it. Or so I thought. It was on a recent trip to Guyana that I realized it was still a bit of a sore spot.

I was sitting one evening, discussing this site with an elder relative, explaining that I created it as a space to explore Caribbean-American history and culture. I was promptly told (in the way that only a highly educated, highly opinionated 80 year old Guyanese woman can do):

‘You can’t do that.’

Huh? ‘Why not?’

‘Because you are not Caribbean. You don’t know the history.’

‘No,’  I explain, ‘I’m discussing Caribbean American culture, how the two intersect -‘

‘No! You are not from here, how can you discuss it?!’

Well, as the conversation was already a little heated from our earlier political talk I decided not to aggravate her further and, like a proper Guyanese gyal, I just smiled and nodded. ‘Oh ok. I see. You’re right.’ And left it at that.

Thinking on it later, I realized that I am not over it. Though I wasn’t as hurt as I’d been as a youngster, I was upset that still, to some, being born and raised in the States disqualified me from taking part in the Caribbean conversation.

But I’m no small child anymore. I’m not going to sit and wait on my half brothers and sisters to accept me into the family. I is a grown ‘oman and am going to plunk me rass down at the family table and you WILL deal with this outside child. I am your sister from another mister and my two cents are just as valid as yours.

This walk between two cultures has been difficult at times but I love my heritage and revel in it proudly. ALL of it. America and Guyana, hip-hop and soca, hamburgers and pepperpot, apples and mangos, zombies and jumbies, Labor Day parade and Mashramani. It’s a beautiful mash-up of cultures that will pass onto the next generation, my boys, who already know that, without question, they are full fledged members of both their Guyanese and American families.

To those born State side: Have you ever felt dismissed by your Caribbean counterparts? How do you deal with it? Do you feel like you are a part of the West Indian family? And to the island born: Can the American born ever  be considered true members of the Caribbean family? Why or Why not?

This post is published as part of Code Red for Gender Justice’s January e-Mas Blog Carnival on the theme ‘To the Caribbean, With Love’.  Check out the other amazing bloggers taking part in the carnival here.