Lichelli Lazar-Lea - Trini-Dad

 

So, my English mother left my Afro-Trinidadian father on the Caribbean Island of Trinidad when I was one and moved back to England, taking my sister and I. And the reason she did that was my father was a terrible womanizer and she despised him. And so, because of that, they made the deal. And that was basically that she wanted nothing from him. She didn’t want child support, nothing. She just wanted to be able to raise my sister and me on her own in England without his interference. My father agreed to this one condition. And that was when we turn 18 and want to meet him, she won’t stop that from happening. 

 

So, as a result, I grew up in the southeast of England, a very conservative part of England, in the 1980s. It was a time of great political and racial strife, which meant that basically, every time I walked out of the house to go to school, I’d get some racial slur hurled at me, “Nigger, wog, packy.” And my particular favorite, which was half-caste, because at least that was accurate. The kids would say to me, “Go back to the jungle, half caste,” which I would have actually quite liked to do to escape the rain had I known what jungle I came from, because I had no memory of Trinidad. 

 

Then when I was 18, I moved to San Francisco. And so, I spent the first year trying to figure out how America works. Once I got land on my feet, I decided, now I’m going to write a letter to my dad and remind him of the deal he made, so I can go for a visit. And to be clear, it wasn’t because I was looking for a father figure that I reached out to him, but I really felt like there was half of me that was missing. And the only way that I was going to find the other half of me was actually by meeting him. And so, the Christmas of 1993, I’m on a plane living my childhood dream of going to the Caribbean. 

 

Now, the flight to Trinidad is not exactly how I imagined it would be. The plane is really junky, the AC doesn’t work, there’s no water. But all the Trinis on the plane turn into a party, and they’re passing around bottles of rum and home cooked food and there’s Soca music playing on the overhead speakers. And soon, we’re flying over the Caribbean Sea and I’m looking down at the azure water and these little islands, so lush and green. We have a bit of a bumpy landing, a few drops, and we celebrate when we land with some more rum drinking and celebration. But we’ve made it. 

 

I continue to follow them through the airport terminal, through customs, baggage check. When I’m in line waiting to actually exit the airport, I look through the sliding glass doors, and I see all these people waiting for their relatives with faces, like combinations of features I’ve never seen before in Britain or America. It suddenly sinks in. I’m in Trinidad, this country that I dreamed about visiting my entire childhood. I’m actually there, and I’m about to meet someone I’ve no idea who this person is. 

 

So, panic starts to build inside of me and I think, oh my God. Well, I don’t even know what the man looks like. The only photograph I had of him was taken in the 1970s.

And in it, he had this three-inch afro and these sunglasses that were so big they covered half his face. [audience chuckle] So, I’m standing now in front of the glass doors, and I take a deep breath, and they open and I step outside. Now, talk about an assault on the senses. There are hundreds of people just suddenly bombard me looking for their relatives. There’s no barrier allowing passengers a second to just gain their footing. There, it’s like sink or swim. And so, I do what every neophyte would do under the circumstances. 

 

I just freeze, holding my bags, looking around for a sign with my name on it or something, just to help me out. And then, I come to my senses and I think, you know what, I’ll call him. There must be a pay phone or something around here. So, I dive into my backpack and I pull out my one connection to my father, which is his business card. And at that moment, someone bumps my elbow, and I let go of it and I just see it floating away from me in slow motion through a sea of legs, you know? And so, I quickly, I dive for it.

 

As I dive for it, people start bumping me left and right, tripping over me while I’m trying to get this business card. I’m on the dirty floor looking for it and I can’t find it anywhere and I start panicking, what am I going to do now? I’m almost about to cry. And then, a miracle happens. This little clearing opens up in front of me and I see the business card, like, ah, right there, two arm’s length away. I’m about to dive for it, but then these two canvas shoes step in front of me deliberately, so I stopped looking at the card and I followed these linen pant legs, up the buttons of a short sleeve shirt, up this long brown neck and I see this face, the face of my father.

 

It’s this moment where I was like, “What is wrong with me?” I could have recognized this face out of a million people, not just 100 people outside of Trinidad Airport, because it was my face. And then, this strange emotion washes over me that I really can’t explain, and that’s love. This man was a total stranger to me. He hadn’t earned it at all. But all I could do was looking at this man was love him. And just when it started to get awkward, his friend popped up in front of us with his face full of glee and says, “Oh, Selo, look, she looks just like you, boy. We daughter home.” At that moment, I realized that I’m not only back in my jungle, but for the first time in my life, standing in front of my father, I’m not a half-caste anymore. I’m whole.