Vincy Day at Brown's Bay

I was ashamed, because this was the 20th gathering of the Vincentian Canadian Society of Canada, or something like that, and I had never heard of it. I was relieved that they have only been doing it there for a few years, years after I left Brockville. Saturday morning, I get my ass to Vendôme metro for 9:10 am, expecting to pick up her friends and friend's niece and be on the highway by 9:30. But nooooo. We have to wait and wait and wait some more for someone to do something. We didn't get out on the road until 10:45, for Christ's sake.

Nadine's friends are very urban black, with West Indian roots. Nadine is Haitian, and I don't know where the other two are from. Amanda and Tasha are both 23, and Nadine is nearly 27 if she isn't already (and the niece, Vivica, is 11, that's pronounced vi-VEE-ka, sweetest girl you'd want to meet). And they speak as though they are a few years younger, although I think it is a fun affectation for them. They act like urban blacks in American cities, except that they can speak English and French.

After settling in at a spot at the border of the "red" section and the "white" section, I set about looking for my immediate family. It wasn't long, even though there were about 2000 people there, that I ran into my mother with my cousin Ammoi (pronouced like "annoy", but she's really nice) and a couple of other women. I last saw Ammoy over Christmas. She looked all right for a woman in her early 40s, but when I saw her last weekend was a good 25 pounds lighter! Sadly, I never got the chance to speak much to her. Apparently my other cousin Loanne and her husband were there, but they were lost in the crowd. Two of the other women were also in their 40s. They were introduced to me as Pam and Grace. Mom whispered over to me, "They have to call you 'Uncle'.*" I never got the details as to why, but I no longer ask any questions. Two more nieces that are old enough to be my mother, albeit young ones. Nothing out of the ordinary for me.

St. Vincent is a small southeastern Caribbean island. Very small. Small enough that if you met someone from there in North America, it wouldn't be long before you figured out that you are no more than 3 degrees of separation from them. And these degrees of separation are quite strong. For example, my father spoke to the current Prime Minister, who spoke to the crowd gathered at Brown's Bay, who knew my father's old friend, the father of the current representative to North Leeward, the riding which contains Chateaubelair, the village where my parents are from. So I am two degrees of separation from the Prime Minister of St. Vincent. Of course, this truly isn't saying much. My point is that everyone is related one way or another fairly closely.

In fact, after finding out that my parents were going to be there, I knew that my father would meet someone who either knew him or his mother 40 years ago. This is exactly what happened.

My father (right) and old, old friend Carlos.

Turns out that Carlos is the younger brother of a friend of my father's, and they ended up being coworkers briefly in the 60s. How interesting that Carlos would remember my father now that he has reached the age of 70. They reminisced for a while, introduced me as "the last one", and then shared some strong rum (the kind that you can't get here; Brown's Bay was overflowing with it). It was a moment.

A bit later on, I ran into both of my parents with a woman called Viola. She was in her mid-50s, and looking good for her age. Turns out that she is mom's first cousin, which makes me her first cousin, once removed. She also lives in Montreal. I'd like to have lunch with her someday soon.

My father (right), mother (left) and cousin Viola.

I even met my 21-year-old niece, Lisa, from Toronto. She is my dad's granddaughter:*

She is actually much prettier than this. It was a bad picture, partially due to the fact that she wouldn't stop dancing.

There are a lot more stories and a lot more pictures, but I have to get to work, so here is the condensed version:

A very cute kid, and my brother's first cousin once removed.*

My brother and Nadine. She thinks he's hot.

Another of Nadine. A damn good picture, if I do say so myself.

My travelling companions. (Left to right: Tasha, Amanda, Vivica and Nadine).

* A brief note about brothers, cousins and such: Quite often in the West Indian community, as in many other communities, many men, especially over the age of 55, spent their youth getting into relationships with women, having children and leaving them completely when the relationship dissolved, rarely participating in any way whatsoever in the child's upbringing. This occurs until sometime in their 30s quite often, when they either find the "right woman" or they are tired of running around, whichever happens first. This is why I have many half siblings, nieces and nephews older than me, and people related to my brother that aren't related to me.