My story.
I am a Born Jamhaitianadian. I love the confusion and tongue tied-ness that happens to people when I wear my shirt stating that fact. Amazingly, children are able to easily read and pronounce the word without confusion.
I was Born here in Montreal to Jamaican and Haitian parents. Mother being Haitian, father: Jamaican. I have a unique experience in comparison to many of my peers, the motherland is not unfamiliar to me.
At a young age, my parents, being part of the diaspora felt the strong pull by the motherland to return. Unfortunately, this pull was in dual directions my father back to his land, and my mother to hers. The move was made to Jamaica, however unable to compromise, my mother did something most unusual in our community: she left me with my father. Let me rephrase that, she gave custody of me to my father. However, it would be a few years before she would make the return to Haiti.
I can't remember feeling disenfranchised or lost. I was always home. If I was in Montreal for Christmas and it's then seemingly beautiful winter, or in Jamaica for school, sucking on a bag juice in the setting sun, or in Haiti, sitting on the curb waiting for the sunset and the sign that the blackawout (electricity gone for the day) was over with the illuminating of the streetlights. It just felt like home.
Though lots of controversy surrounds my going from country to country, I am grateful for the time spent. I had a taste of the many sides of all countries.
I have been to Kumina and Voodoo ceremonies baring little resemblance to the stereotypical images of American movies such as A Time to Kill and The Serpent And the Rainbow. I have experienced every possible aspect of life. Lifting buckets of water two or three, sometimes even four times a day to take a bath and carry for my mother to take her shower, chores were no joke! In JamaicaI've had to boil water in the morning if I wanted a warm one or just tough out the ice cold water coming from the pipes.
I've been through torrential hurricanes, experienced the descent of people into chaos, the militaristic lock down of an entire country via Coup d'État and an 11th birthday by candlelight. My cousin and I running through our neighbourhood during cat and dog rain to find houses still under construction where pipes were shooting out water gathered on a rough to stand up under the high pressure of water rushing down on us, screaming at the top of our lungs like superheroes. Going through the hills and valleys with my best friends in Jamaica, hoping to find some Indian Jones type treasure trove that, somewhere in our imagination was right beyond the next bend.
Returning to Montreal was the difficulty. My schooling up until the college level had gone on as far as it could. I needed to step it up. Montreal, Quebec, Canada was the logical choice. I knew how to speak french, I was born there, so schooling wasn't going to be too expensive. Plus, I had family here to support if necessary. It was the right choice. I returned. It was a completely different beast. Very noisy. Too active. A trauma to the senses. Dawson College overwhelmed the senses. Coming from a College where you essentially knew EVERY student in the entire school to having 1500 students walk past you per day. Made my world seem so much more of a microcosm in this bigger galactic cosmos.
Being Jamhaitian also presented its challenges. Apparently I wasn't supposed to exist. There was a "beef" between Jamaicans and Haitians, yet, I know there are quite a few of us that exist. Probably hiding out of fear of being judged, heh!
But, I'd never hide my background. As I grew from a somewhat naive artist, to a self-aware activist, producer, actor and much more, I became more Canadian. Participated in my fair share of June/July moving traditions. I've adopted the Quebecer "joual" as my own.
The past 15 years have been educational and inspirational. But I wouldn't be who I am today without having lived in both my mother and father's lands: Haiti and Jamaica.
To be continued...
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