My name is Jorge Estevez, my family comes from a town in
the Dominican Republic known today as "Laguna Salada" (salted Lagoon) but part
of it is still called "Jaibon". At the turn of the century, the whole town was
known as "Guabay". Jaibon is in the "Cibao" region of the Island.
All my family came from the campo (country side). Some
family members have never left the campo and are still there today. We
immigrated to the U.S. in 1961. I was left behind with my father and did not
make it back to New York until I was 5 years old. We settled in the Inwood
section of Upper Manhattan.
From early on, being one of the few Dominican families in
the area, I became aware of how distinct we were from the other people in the
neighborhood. We had different words for many things that other Latinos had,
for example, we would say "un chin" as apposed to un poquito, or Auyama for
calabasa, himagua instead of twins, ciguato instead of podrido, etc., and this
among other things became a source of pride, in who we are and where we came
from, for me.
On Saturday mornings my mother and grandmother told stories
of our campo that fascinated me. There were stories of "Ciguapas," creatures
that lived in the woods and had long hair and inverted feet. There were the
stories of brave Indians who would rather die than succumb to the Spanish.
Women whom my family believed were beautiful were always compared to Anacaona,
a Taino Cacika (chief) who was murdered by the Spanish. My mother always
maintained that bravery and jealousy were the two things that ruled an
Indian’s life. My mother would put us to sleep with songs with Indian themes,
one in particular she created from an old Cuban poem dedicated to the Taino.
My grandmother always told us that we were Indio. Even when
I pointed out to her that we had family members who were black, she would in
turn point out the ones that looked Indian or Spanish. To her it did not
matter how mixed we were, because we had a history in Jaibon and that history
was ultimately Indian. My mother on the other hand always told us that we were
Indian and Black, and although she never used the word Taino to describe us,
she did use Indio often. When I wanted to know about our African heritage she
would just raise her shoulders and tell me she did not know what that was, but
if it was anything like the Haitians, then we were different. She never spoke
in racist terms when it came To Afro- Haitian/Dominicans because she
recognized them as being a part of who we are as well. Her knowledge of the
campo however was incredible as was her assertion of our connection to these
things.
Some tales involved family members who had strange powers, and could
shape-shift. My grandmother’s uncle, Don Choro wsa said to be able to change
into any animal or plant. Other stories included "Botijas" (dreams) in which
Indians would bring you messages or point out where buried treasure was
hidden.
Of all the things we learned, nothing compared to "Casabe"
and the planting of food crops and medicines. They spoke of "tua-tua" and how
it could only be picked at certain times of the day, but that it was a great
cure for diarrhoea. Guanabana leaves were great for headaches, and so on.
Yagua and Cana were the best for making Bohios (thatched roof houses), and
guano was good for weaving Hamacas, arganas, and macuotos. "Cayucos" were a
type of cactus that produced a fruit called "yaso" and it was made into a
drink, as was the "behuco de Indio" that was used for "mabi".
The Casabe is made from the bitter yucca, which is
poisonous. When we made casabe my mother would tell us that the best utensil
to spread the yuca flour on the griddle was the bottom shell of a Hicotea
(fresh water turtle). This always bothered me because I always liked keeping
turtles in the house, but my mother would only allow land turtles, not the
water kind, because she insisted they brought bad luck. When I questioned her
as to why it brought bad luck, she just didn’t know. All she knew was that her
grandparents in the campo always maintained that these animals should not be
kept in the home.
Years later I read a Taino creation story from a book and realized why she had
this taboo. According to the story the spirit being Deminan Caracarcol had
children with a fresh water turtle, and these children became the first
people, so in essence the turtle was a symbol of our mother and our ancestors
never ate her flesh for that reason. It was then that I understood why my
mother perpetuated a taboo with out even knowing why. After 500 years of
Christianity, it is truly amazing how certain taboos and traditions have
remained. Owls for example are considered messengers of death in the Dominican
Republic. Many Native people in this Hemisphere also have this same perception
of owls. In Europe the owl is seen as a symbol of wisdom.
I remember how once, while my mother was making casabe and
telling me stories, my mind drifted back in time, and I wondered if maybe 500
years ago there was some other little boy watching his mother make casabe
while listening to stories of our homeland, of heroic warriors and great
shamans. At that moment I knew that our connection to these things are strong
and it is the root of who we are and defines us as a people.
For me
it boils down to where I come from. I identify with the roots of our culture
in the Caribbean. I am extremely proud of our heritage. So when I am asked
where I come from, I always answer: I am Taino from the Dominican Republic,
from the town of Jaibon.
NOT TO BE DUPLICATED OR DISTRIBUTED
WITHOUT ADVANCE PERMISSION FROM THE AUTHOR AND FORMAL ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF
THIS PUBLICATION AND THE C.A.C.
