By Cherie A. Daniel 
Cherie A. Daniel is currently a PhD student at the University of Toronto (Ontario Institute for Studies in Education). She is a Canadian born woman of Guyanese heritage.
It is December in Toronto, Canada, which for me has always meant two things. The first, getting the fruit that has been soaking in some rum and cherry brandy for a few months for the traditional Guyanese Black Cake. Second, the special Christmas table cloth, real napkins and placemats are being located and prepped for Christmas day. Of course, all these things are to prepare for the big Christmas dinner. The ‘other’ drapes are being taken out from their spot and are going to be rinsed out to put up for Christmas. There is the list of things that need to be purchased – although there is nothing new about a list most people make lists. What is unique in my household is that the list corresponds with each dish. You have the oxtail dinner prep list, the garlic pork itemized ingredients, the Ghee and Tawa come out for the paratha roti (my favourite), the geera and Guyana pride curry powder, all these things symbolised home – Guyana.
The trips to the grocery store – the dry sorrel that would be stock piled, the fresh garlic smell that reminded me of a place, “GT”, that I had never spent time in. The dry ginger that was transformed magically into Ginger beer, and the jars that would need to be cleaned for this process. There was the bark, spice, and clove that would be for the mauby. Not to be forgotten, the most important of all the central force of the Christmas season is the required link to Casareep, but not just any kind. It had to be from ‘someone’ coming up to Toronto who would bring it. No matter when the bottle of casareep arrived, it would magically disappear until Christmas Eve when it was put in the pot for the pepperpot. The saltfish would also not be touched until it was time for the saltfish cakes.
As I am now older and reflecting on Christmas, I close my eyes and I only see being of Guyanese heritage. The traditions passed down orally through my Granny made me who I am today. There is no doubt in my mind I am half Guyanese. I knew I was born in Canada, but I was raised as a Guyanese in Canada. From the coconut oil that used to grease my skin, to the memory of grating coconut for sweet cakes. The early memories or coconut milk being drained by Granny from the coconut for the cook up rice. The early knowledge of going to the market in downtown Toronto or the Caribbean store to get fish and the ingredients for duff for the metemgee. The pig tail is purchased for two dishes; the cook up rice with white belly shrimp and pepperpot. I remember being fascinated that one item could be stretched to every dish in a different fashion and purpose. I remember Granny making lemonade for me and calling it SWANK and finding delight in the different terms as it symbolized my connectedness to home. I also came to the realization that the simple ways, although a distant memory, represent the true meaning of community. Even though times have changed, I will hold close the idea of togetherness and respect.
Therefore, in my mind, between my cousins who were born in Guyana, and those who have been to Guyana more frequently than me, I never felt any different. In fact, because of how I was raised and now that I have a daughter, I am proud that I can make bakes from scratch, I can fry up saltfish, I can make cook up rice, and I can orally pass down traditions. It never crossed my mind why I was so loyal and proud to be part of a place that I had only visited for 10 days when I was just 18 months old for my Grandfather’s funeral. One thing that my Granny instilled in me was that Guyana was my roots. For me, food and family were the most important things. The ‘back home’ discipline surrounded me, and I had to fall in line.
My life has values of hand washing my school uniform shirts with Reckett’s blue to make sure my school uniform shirts stayed crisp and white. When I had a fever, I would be rubbed down with Limacol. I would remember when something was hurting me or not right; my Granny would mix a poultice if there was blister or an abscess and it would be mixed with soft grease and lint/gauze. I would remember Karela that was bitter in taste and given to me for tummy home remedy. Everything was natural…I would take the aloe vera plant and put the sticky substance/milk on my face during my teenage years to prevent pimples…and so for me – I always felt that I was a Guyanese through and through but simply displaced and dispatched from home – but born in Canada.
I realize that everything about me that makes me proud to be of Guyanese heritage surrounds special holiday traditions and the dishes that correspond with both. I never thought that it was odd for identifying with a place that I only knew because of my Granny and her stories. A place she spoke about fondly. Her recollections through the years have blended and morphed into my own, even though I have only been to Guyana when I was 18 months and I was born in Toronto.
What I find funny is that all my cousins, including those born “back home,” come to me to ask about how to cook certain dishes or fill in the blank on certain memories. I am tasked with holding up the traditions. I am proud that I can cook the items from scratch. I make it a point to take my daughter to heritage events and speak about a home that flows in our blood stream and will also make her the person I hope I can witness her become.
Although I can’t partake in the magical time back in “GT” for another year, I promise to always speak with pride about a country that I have embraced as my own. I vow until I can have first-hand experiences, I will pass down through oral history the stories of linoleum that would be put down for Christmas. I will sing familiar songs from Christmas. I will always remember the strong role my Granny played in raising me alongside my parents. She instilled in me the importance of always having food on the stove and not turning anyone away– food is life and that is what we must do especially during Christmas season. Granny would also tell me that nothing went to waste because people used wait for a long time to save for the big meal that everyone would come together to celebrate.
My wish as the holidays are here is that soon I will have a chance to touch the land that I call home, even though things will never be the same as through my Granny’s or my mother’s eyes. I long to see D’Urban street where my family history began. I long to see what the sea wall is all about. I want to close my eyes to hear the water. I want to channel my ancestors and see the tomb in the burial ground where my Grandfather is resting in peace. I want to sit in St. George’s Cathedral. I want to experience the wonders of Kaieteur Falls and the Rupununi river
Merry Christmas Guyana and may all the blessings be yours. Thank you to a country that has become part of my life since before I was born, and has continued to grow stronger.