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Coming to America

My father came to NY before us to scout out the terrain and find a job and an apartment.  Mammy and the seven of us stayed behind in Trinidad.  Daddy lived in NY for several years before the family emigrated.  We would see him once a year for about two weeks on his vacation from work.  I would brag to my friends at school that I had a father in NY and they would be envious.  I missed him terribly.  Once, after Daddy’s annual trip home I took the day that he was leaving off school.  I didn’t go to the airport but I spent the afternoon looking for airplanes in the sky and imagining that he was on one of them.  The next day when I went back to school the teacher made me stand up and tell the class why I was absent.  They did this to everyone and if you did not have a reasonable excuse for the absence they would whip you in front of the class.  I imagine they did this to embarrass you out of truancy.  The only time it was humiliating to me was the time I stayed home for a week because of an infection on my behind.  The teacher asked me to rise and state the reason for my absence.  I rose and blurted out quickly, “I had a boil on my bottom and couldn’t sit down so I had to stay home.”  I don’t remember the reaction of the children because I said it with such speed and resumed sitting, with my head down, working and trying to be invisible.  The day after my father left I stood up tall and said, “I was not in school yesterday because I went to the airport because my father was going back to NY,” and I burst into tears.  I don’t know if I was crying because I lied about going to the airport or because I missed him so.  Later, I overheard my teacher talking to another teacher about me and commenting how hard it must be for us to live without our father. 

The day came when the immigration officials gave us the okay to move to NY.  Mammy sold the house to the next-door neighbor and we packed up our belongings.  Much to my dismay I learned that immigration had only approved the eldest four of us to emigrate.  This setback was held from us until the last minute.  Myself, my older and younger sister, the three youngest would have to stay behind.  Arrangements were made for the three of us to move in with my mother’s sister, and her family of nine, in Curepe, until my parents were able to buy a house in NY and send for us.  We were devastated and the waiting was interminable.  I would send letters every month asking when we were coming to New York.  We lived with our cousins for a year and two months, fourteen long months away from our family. 

In April 1974 we were given the okay to move to NY.  We packed all our belongings in one suitcase and boarded a Pan American 747 at Piarco airport destined for John F. Kennedy Airport.  It was the first time I had ever been on an airplane.  It was a foreign and exotic thing and we bought new clothes just for the flight.  We were escorted to our seats by an immaculately dressed flight attendant and given one children’s coloring pack.  We reverently opened this unexpected surprise and divided up the contents.  One of us received the crayons, another, the coloring book, and the third the stickers or pin.  We quickly and quietly put the items away in our new plastic purses, bought for the flight, before the airline changed its mind and demanded the return of our bounty.  We didn’t realize that the art package was meant to be used on the plane to kill time on the long flight. 

After hours of flying we started our descent in Queens.  We landed at night and I was amazed at all the lights on the ground.  There were thousands of tiny bright dots sprinkled everywhere.  It was bigger than Diwali and more beautiful than looking up at the stars in the night sky.  I remember thinking that New York must be a wonderful place to be lit up like Christmas in April.

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