Eye On C’Bean Community

Be Neighborly.

"Mommmeeee!" It was like a fire alarm going off. Standing around, thinking cap over my brain waiting for a vein to open and leak ideas, this was really bad timing. Focusing with the girls home is extremely challenging. It interrupts flow. Here’s a little story about my neighbors: First there is Ms. C. She has been living in Canarsie for some thirty to fifty years. Next door to her is Charlie. He is my next door neighbor and Carmello is three doors over. On the evening of the blackout last summer, I was in the backyard dumping my brain, black ink on white paper, oblivious to everything that was going on.

There was laughter coming from the front when I noticed it was unusually dark. I heard Carmello’s voice. My husband, our girls and Carmello were on our stoop, one of Ms. C’s sons was standing on the pavement, Charlie was on his stoop and Ms. C’s head was sticking out of her front window. Naturally I had questions but as soon as I appeared in the doorway, Charlie answered the most pressing. "It’s all the way to Canada ... the lights! There is no light along the eastern board." "What?" I replied quizzically then stood there for a few minutes and listened. Carmello sounded like a historian. He was reminiscing; telling the story of another blackout that happened in the 1960’s, then segue way into a lesson about the village of Canarsie.

I know all but two families on my side of the street. Why am I telling you this?!

Listen Caribbean people: Most of us are country folks. We were born and raised in rural areas where people ride donkeys and children say "Taata" instead of grandpa, "Mi Tanty" for my aunt and if you were bare-face and dry eyes, forgot your manners, you were fair game to the adult who caught you in your act, before we came to America. When we were growing up, we knew everybody in our respective district. We knew who left, who got married, who was sick, died, had a baby, came home and it was not via TV, radio or newspaper. Remember as a child if you were in Ms. Valda’s yard playing and dinner time came.... Yes you ate dinner at Ms. Valda, Teacher Mack or Nurse Green ... whichever yard you ended up in. Don’t forget too that most times Ms. Valda or Teacher Mack’s house was waaaayy down the road and probably around the corner....some ten city blocks. Don’t ask me how Caribbean people cook just for dem family and the food accommodated three unexpected extra mouths.

It is magical. Speaking in broad terms....it was customary to drop in unannounced to visit your family, your neighbor, your friends and it offended no one. This was the depth of our relationships. There was social interaction between neighbors. We lived in a healthy environment where neighbors borrowed a cup of sugar; you do not buy limes or mangoes... or didn’t buy fruits period. Of course the dynamics of modern society does not allow us such luxuries; however we come from a culture that should not leave us isolated from our community. Doana bother pop style and act like you can’t relate. Almost all ... 99.9 percent of us can relate.. Even if you’re not a country bumpkin, I know that if you are from Haiti, Jamaica, Trinidad, Barbados, Martinique, Panama.... You know exactly what I am saying."It takes a clumsy second to break a glass." We are breaking too many glass receptacles.

People live largely in race-based cultural settings. There are no sign posts or billboards that announce it but there is a reason why there are titles and subtitles such as Chinatown and Little Italy, the Carib-bean community ... you get the drift. And ... and there is nothing wrong with this. We gravitate to that which we are most comfortable. It is such a rich thing ... multi-culture and multi-ethnicity. Although we damn near look the same, we cook and eat slightly differently. Our dialects also vary but we still have to speak with one voice. Give yourself some time to enjoy the simple pleasures of verbal contact with a neighbor. Sometimes I wonder what on earth has come over us... whatever ‘appen! We’ve lost our edge.

If you know a few people on your street, you will recognize the strangers. They will stick out like a sore thumb. I love community. It is like a circle. There is power in circles. A neighborhood is a haven; become enchanted with yours. Erase the stigma. This is one anecdote, and it is really an uncomplicated process. Become a path beater. Just thought I’d reiterate the essence of building a community....keep rocking Caribbean people.