Don't Marry Us. Instead, Stand By Us.

Everyone wants to go to Jamaica, but no one wants to marry a Jamaican.

I know this is not a saying, but it should become one.

The years I spent listening to people from my school detailing their luscious vacations in the Caribbean, sight-seeing in Montego Bay, and heading to the hot spots were enough to make me jealous of them, even though I have more connections to Jamaica than any of them combined. Their references to Bob Marley have nearly driven me to inclinations to sew their mouths shut. Hearing their sorry impersonations of Jamaican accents would cause within me a yearning of violence to befall upon them, preferably by my hand, and especially when I did not ask for such a spectacle upon me sharing such intimate information about myself. What struck me most profoundly was that they never truly asked the thoughtful questions, like what type of customs we practice, my favorite cuisine from my culture, or if I ever had plans to visit one of the places of my ancestors for the first time. The people I had encountered, Americans mind you, always had a way of making my culture, my background, my heritage all about them and nothing about me. It was one of the most bewildering, degrading acts of erasure I have ever and continue to experience now as a young adult. The worst part of it all, is that there are deep roots of trauma still plaguing our families yet the outsiders only care about the resorts, the plantain, or the reggae that is overplayed on certain radio stations.

Even within the Black community, the Caribbean children of the African Diaspora are neglected by the African Americans as much from the Caucasians from any country and culture. They are therefore left to their own devices when it comes to healing, survival, struggle, and failing to break generational cycles of trauma. People only want us when we are entertainment, not beings of flesh and blood, with emotions as fiery as the mountains, and wills that cut deep like the whips that spliced through the backs of our ancestors not too long ago.

I am and will forever be a child of both worlds, and the truth which no one dares ask me is that living on the border of two or more cultural universes is much like walking a tightrope that leads down to symmetrically mirrored waterfalls. At first glance while treading for dear life, there is little to no difference. Upon looking closer however, there are notable distinctions which make existing in both forever exhausting. Oh yes, it is magical as a little child, but in getting older I realized recognizing what I am did more in taking away my joy and love for those parts of me than fueling them like it should. I took pride in my family’s pride. Later, I would despise that they never cared for the major falls that came from following it, even less how it affected their children. The food cooked with tangy seasoning and mouth-watering aromas would always carry an expectation of pretension, no matter the dysfunction that was to be expected once dinner was served. And it was the fear of being isolated from the only family I ever knew that kept me miserably planted where I was. Mind you that the family was toxic to hell, did not want to own up to their issues, and still is not on a vibration that can help me get anywhere. Even now, I can still hear them berating and gaslighting me thinking it is them rearing me into a respectable person.

My message to anyone who befriends, dates or marries anyone from the islands-throw away everything you saw on television and social media. You will most assuredly be cussed out and made thoroughly disappointed. There is more to us than the plantain and jerk chicken you buy from Caribbean-copycat restaurants, the wild dancehall music that falls upon your ears while living it up at a club, or the countless commercials surfing the media which romanticize the landscape of what many call their roots. We are a people who have been thoroughly mixed into one another since Columbus invaded the first islands in 1492. Black Caribbean people have brutally suffered from the exploitation of European domination. The rigid rulings of the plantations produced a level of violence and injustice so deep it ingrained itself into the DNA of future generations. My friends want to make the same spots where my ancestors were abused daily their seasonal retreat of relaxation. This also does not cover the contemporary colonization of the Caribbean, where White and now Asian businessmen are now profiteering off the beauty of the land, and the people are slowly compromising their hard-won autonomy into a familiar slavery once more. Even after five centuries of fighting, we still have war with enemies old and new in our own home because of the value of our resources while having our humanity continually stripped from us with complete indifference. The level of disrespect that is dealt to our people is mortifying, and we can only stand it for so long before breaking individually as well as a whole.

Be our comrades. Stand by us as we reclaim the land that rightfully belongs to the Indigenous folk who lived on the sacred land before the colonizers invaded. Buy our products and services at full price. Ask us how we are doing, not whether we do dreads or have marijuana on hand. Do not imitate our accents. Do not only talk about our beautiful beaches. Only talk about how we are ending intersectional oppression for the entire African Diaspora. If you are unable to do this, then do not vacation in the Caribbean any longer.

You deserve none of the fruits if you are okay with violence being why you taste its sweet succulence.