Modern Moomah

In 2018, I visited Ghana, Africa.  Arriving in Ghana, I felt at home like it was an extension of the Caribbean or the most festive Black gathering I had ever seen.  The people, food, and climate felt familiar.  Landing on the continent was like finally coming home after a long trip.  There was a settled peace like the kind found under a shady tree in the afternoon.  I was blessed to climb a prayer mountain with my church family.  The climb was difficult but rewarding.  Historians found that Jamaicans originated from the west coast of Africa in the region of Ghana and nearby countries.  The similarities in the food we eat, the language and cultural expressions certainly confirm the connection.  As a child in Brooklyn, kids would call each other harsh names like African booty scratcher or Jamaican booty scratcher.  To think that Black children thought so low of their own roots makes me cringe.    As humans, we are oceans an...

Saturday after Saturday my finger knuckles were assaulted by the God awful kitchen grater that I used to start the coconut milk process.  Oh how I do not miss those days.  Now that I think about it, those old fashioned graters were sharp enough to be surgical tools, lol.  In our home, It was a Saturday night ritual to dice, grate or strain that coconut to make coconut milk for rice and peas or sweet potato pudding , or whatever other island dish my mother decided to make for Sunday dinner. I had to sit there half sleep waiting for my mother to roll the next order off her tongue. I can't remember if that was before or after she fried my hair with the pressing comb.  Sounds awful, I know.  Many things happened in the kitchen back in the day.  The kitchen was like the mecca of the home.  Those Saturdays were long days filled with cooking and cleaning.  I had two working parents who left home at the crack of dawn, on lonely Brooklyn streets, and ret...

Food seems to be the tie that binds our hearts in Christian love, Muslim love,  Jewish love, or well you get the point.  Put some good food in front of folks from all walks of life, and they forget that they hate one another.  As a matter of fact, food binds us in love and admiration across cultures, spaces and times.  It is truly beyond me how we love each other's food to the point of cravings, yet we hate each other and also hate the cultures from whence these mouthwatering dishes derive.  Food is a part of our happiness as humans.  Jamaicans have a saying: "Me Love you like cook food" which describes the joyous affection that we feel for someone.  Food really enhances our experiences by adding joy to our festivities. For example, Christmas needs a nice jug of sorrel. Easter is more meaningful with escoveitch fish or bun and cheese. We survive the week up until Saturday just for a good, hot pot of chicken foot soup.  Sunday isn't the same ...

In all my 25 years with 18 years of experience, I still have never seen a banana boat. Small as I was when I first heard the phrase, I knew that somehow a banana boat was not a safe way to travel clear across the deep blue sea, thousands of miles from Jamaica over to the city that never sleeps, on the banks of the great Hudson River. I never gave the "banana boat" expression much thought, except I knew it was not meant in a good way. To think that the expression came from little people who were just as small as I was back in kindergarten. Those little bodies with big mouths must have heard the derogatory phrase from their elders. Children certainly could not have come up with it on their own. Between the giggles, sneers, and ways I felt humiliated, I knew the term "banana boat" was meant to make me feel different and out of place. I felt fine about myself but folks that looked just like me were destined to torture me about what I said and how I sounded different ...