I’ve always been intrigued by the process in which the apparatus of a culture is gradually modified, even mutated, by persons migrating from one culture taking up permanent residence in the host one. When the people on the move are coming from a vibrant culture with strong roots, and particularly when they come in large numbers over time, that migrant presence can alter the culture they move to even as they themselves are being changed by their new environment. The massive Chinese migration to Toronto going back to the 1960s has transformed parts of the city into totally Chinese business enclaves down to even street signs in Chinese. The French-Canadian migration to Louisiana has given a Francophone flavour to that state spawning the unique Cajun dance music featuring accordion, and, latterly, the New Orleans version of hip-hop known as ‘bounce.’ Without anyone orchestrating it, or propelling it, the migrants, in the exhibition of their culture, cause ripples in the culture they come to. There is no deliberate plot or intent; it’s a natural change.
When I migrated to Grand Cayman in 1980 with my Caymanian wife, I set about creating my dream home, including greenheart flooring from Guyana, on a substantial 3 acres of land. ‒ that’s a story in itself, for another day. I put in the floors as we say, me one, bringing in a rented side-nailer and heavy-duty drum sander from Miami seemed endless, but I finished it, and the floor was a constant joy for me; I would enjoy walking on it barefoot, and never having to polish the polyurethane finish. Everybody who came to the house would rave about this distinctive hardwood. To Guyanese it would have been old hat, but to Caymanians it was a jaw dropper.
In the yard, I organized a backhoe to come in and dig for the deep soil pockets (Grand Cayman is a coral island), and I planted a host of fruit trees, working alone during the week and with a faithful Jamaican gardener, Nicholl, on weekends. I bought grafted mango seedlings from Miami including Nam Doc Mai (a delicious variety from Thailand), Southern Blush, Keitt, and Tommy Atkins. From Jamaica, I got Julie mango, East Indian mango, and ackee. On trips from Guyana, I smuggled in 2 Parika banana suckers, Buxton Spice and breadnut seeds, and whitey seeds. In a few years, my tree roster included mangoes (14), avocadoes (3), sapodilla, guinep, starapple, papaw, breadnut (2), shaddock (2), soursop, dungs, carambola (2), guava (2), Malacca Pear (our cashew), red plum, passion fruit, golden apple (2), ackee (2) and whitey – yes, whitey; 4 of those. I had a Buxton Spice mango at the front of the yard, and it had reached about 20 feet and fruiting, but lightning hit it one night and opened the trunk in a neat cleft from top to bottom. The other trees thrived, though, including the whitey which I had loved from my West Dem days. I offered it to a Jamaican mason one day; he took a taste, made a face and said, “Mr. Martins, dis ah bird food, sah.” What did he know? I sold some to Willie’s fruit store in Grand Cayman, and the locals loved it. (Notice they’re all fruit trees; if I can’t eat it, I don’t plant it.) Looking back on it, I had introduced four things from Guyanese culture to Cayman; greenheart flooring; breadnut; Parika banana and whitey, also dubbed “bird food.”
Fast forward to 2009 when I moved back here, I brought in some seedlings from Miami (you won’t believe that story; I’ll write it some time.) I gave away a couple, and two were dismantled by our dogs, but the grafted sapodilla I brought in is bearing for the second time (delicious) as is the Nam Doc mango. As it turned out the Nam Doc they gave me was a dwarf; .only after I had been here for a couple years did the bulb light up when I noticed the tree had grown to about 8 feet high and stopped. However, she’s into her second crop now and it is a bumper; there must be 50 young mangoes on that tree. I suspect not all will hold, but it will be great to have Nam Doc again. I don’t know anybody here who has one of those trees. It’s like when I was in Cayman; Northward was the only yard with a ‘whitey’ fruit tree (Trinis have a different name for it).
It occurred to me recently, checking the Thai mangoes here, and remembering the whitey trees I introduced to Grand Cayman, that I was an example of the cultural alteration I referred to earlier. In the artistic area in that northwestern Caribbean island, I was the originator, via the Rotary Club, of an annual ‘Cayman carnival’ (I named it Batabano), basically replicating the Trinidad model Tradewinds had played in for several years. In Cayman, I had also initiated a topical satirical comedy, called Rundown, which I wrote every year with original music (Henry Muttoo was the director and set designer). Both Batabano and Rundown became hugely popular and continue strong to this day. In a completely different sphere, that of my fruit-tree hobby, I had introduced whitey and Parika banana to Cayman.
It’s the old of story of cultures choosing what to accept and what to reject in their interaction with other cultures. Twenty-five years from their inception, Batabano and Rundown are a popular part of Caymanian culture that didn’t exist before these two Guyanese migrants arrived. The cultural landscape of the country had been altered by some artistic work the Caymanian people had embraced. Note, however, that there hasn’t been the similar acceptance on the culinary side. In this scenario, Caymanians have embraced jerk food from Jamaica and fast food from America, but on the whitey and the banana it appears the gardener’s assessment holds – “Dat ah bird food, sah.”
