Why I Wrote "Cuban, Immigrant, and Londoner"

 My book is a call to strengthen the bonds that unite us

Photo by Deborah Jaffe

Published by Austin Macauley, supported by an Arts Council England grant and with photographs by the excellent Deborah Jaffe, my first book, “Cuban, Immigrant, and Londoner” hits the shelves this week.

Somewhere towards the end of my book, I write “This is what writing from an EAL immigrant’s perspective represents. Shards of glass that amount to nothing more and nothing else than the imperfect creation of a glimpse into the life we’ve lived, the one we have yet to live and the experience that has accompanied this process.” The “shards of glass” are a reference to an image produced by the photographer Gillian Allard in 2017 for one of her challenges on the Sky Arts show “Master of Photography” (Gillian went on to win the competition).

Shards tend to be seen mainly as broken pieces of glass and therefore they have a negative connotation. For instance, you can get cut if you walk on them barefoot. For me, though, shards and the distorted image they return, represent the various ways in which our lives as immigrants play out.

That’s why I decided to split “Cuban, Immigrant, and Londoner” into five different chapters. They each deal with five different identity markers. Cuban, Immigrant, and Londoner was the trigger to write the book from a self-proclaimed Londoner’s perspective. A Cuban in London and London in a Cuban is a collection of 250-/300-word light-hearted vignettes depicting those little moments that enrich an immigrant’s life. As the Land is the Language is a reflection on our relationship with the English language as immigrants. From Here and There is a compilation of the articles I’ve published in newspapers and magazines in the last fifteen years. The closing chapter, An EAL Immigrant Writes, seeks to explore the ways in which we, non-native speakers, express our ideas and thoughts in our adopted country’s language, in this case, English.

The main aim of the book “Cuban, Immigrant, and Londoner” is to serve as a platform for fellow immigrants to share our experiences. Furthermore, through the book I would like to start a much-needed conversation with the wider public in the UK on the contributions made by immigrants to this country.

The ideas behind this book have long been in gestation. Some come from my professional life. An example of this was a First Light-funded, EAL children-supporting project I managed at two primary schools in 2009. Another film-related project I managed years later, in 2014, sought to delve into issues related to identity and belonging.

Above all “Cuban, Immigrant, and Londoner” is part memoir, part autobiography and part reflection on an Afro-Latin Caribbean immigrant’s life in London for more than 20 years. It’s a journey that’s barely begun. Welcome aboard and enjoy the ride.

A Visit to Batsford Arboretum in Gloucestershire

 

Was it a hawk, a buzzard or a kite? All I know is that it was a bird of prey

Mighty oaks from little acorns grow (photo by the blog author)

I only noticed it when we were walking towards the exit. It hovered just above us, as if to show off its aerial skills. Was it a kite, a hawk or a similar bird of prey? I don’t know. The sky was a dull grey and fascinated though I usually am by wildlife, I can’t tell a buzzard from a sparrowhawk that far.

We were at Batsford Arboretum, in Gloucestershire. Home to one of the UK’s largest private tree collections, we’d just spent a good hour walking among cherry blossoms and oak trees.

With 56 acres of wild gardens, paths and streams, the arboretum offers something to everyone. Set up as a charity, the Batsford Foundation (the body that oversees the venue’s management and maintenance) aims to promote education, conservation and research into gardens and historic landscapes.

Originally the estate belonged to Algernon Bertram Freeman-Mitford, who had worked for the Foreign Office in Russia, Japan and China in the 1860s. A passionate lover of the oriental landscape, this was the sort of design Mitford had in mind for the arboretum.

A cedar tree (photo by the blog author)

Sadly, during the Second World War and the years that followed the grounds became wild and fell into neglect. It wasn’t until Frederick Anthony Hamilton Wills, 2^nd Lord Dulverton, succeeded the previous owner that the garden was returned to its former glory.

Once we left the arboretum I realised there was another building next to it. It was a falconry, where many birds of prey can be seen daily in free-flying demonstrations. I spotted another couple of birds up in the air with the one I’d seen before.

But hard as I tried, I still couldn’t tell them apart.

Walking In the Cotswolds With a Song In My Head

Gorse and limestone, but where’s my snake?

 

“Climbing up on Solsbury Hill/I could see thecity light/Wind was blowing, time stood still/Eagle flew out of the night”

I’ve no idea why I was singing and humming (the latter, when words failed me) Peter Gabriel’s tune in my head, other than it seemed appropriate as we went up Cleeve Common, in Gloucestershire. This is a habit I’ve had for many years now. Serenading myself quietly. I think I’ve taken after my dad in that respect. He always had a melody on his lips. Sometimes it was a well-known song played endlessly on the radio. Other times it was a piece he was working on, ready to be finished on the upright piano we had back then in my house.

Geology- and archaeology-rich Cleeve Common sits in one-thousand acres of agriculturally unimproved limestone grassland, in the Cotswolds. Quarries and gorse thickets add to the variety of wildlife habitats.

Untouched by the plough or fertiliser, the area is home to a wide range of wild flowers, many of which would have been familiar throughout Britain before the post-war intensification of farming.

However, despite the presence of three Scheduled Ancient Monuments (the Cross Dyke, the Hill Fort and the Ring), what I really wanted to see was an adder.

I’d heard so much about Britain’s only venomous snake. The presence of meadow pipits was a welcome sign as I knew that adders liked hunting ground-nesting birds. Also, the high-rising temperature would have tempted this usually shy reptile to leave its hideout in order to seek the warmth of the sun.

Yet, after walking for just over an hour there was no slithering, dark zig-zag pattern to spot. We got back to the car, my heart “going boom, boom, boom”, but I guess you already knew that. After all, I’m used to serenading myself.

Belas Knap Long Barrow: a Piece of British History

A culture-rich walk in Gloucestershire and dressing for April

 

Chamber D (photo by author)

They told me it was a steep climb, but in the end it wasn’t much of an effort. The main issue was how to dress. TS Elliot got it wrong. April is not the cruellest month, but the most weather-uncertain one. Layer-shedding is what I call the fourth month of the year. And so it proved to be today.

I started uphill with a jumper, a hoodie and a jacket. Belas Knap, our destination, beckoned further up ahead. Going through a couple of fields, I realised that lambing season had already started. The evidence was the little, Easter-picture-perfect lambs gambolling about, not too far from the ewes’ watchful gaze.

Belas Knap Long Barrow, in Gloucestershire, is one of those sites that connects you to history straight away. It’s over 5,500 years old and it was built by prehistoric people, early Neolithic period. It was a burial place. At least the remains of 38 people were found within the four chambers that make up the mound.

The site was first excavated in the 1860s. However the barrow was left in ruins until 1928 when more digging and restoration took place. There are four burial chambers and a “false portal” (picture below). The latter might have been built to deter robbers, even though not many valuables have been found in the tomb chambers. Another theory suggests that the false entrance was a “spirit door”, making it easy for the dead to come and take offerings..

False entrance known as portal setting (photo by the author)

By the time we initiated our descent, my hoodie was wrapped around my waist and I was holding my jacket. I was also wishing I had at least put on a T-shirt underneath, instead of a thick top. It wasn’t the climb that was the problem but my sartorial choice.

The England football team has won hearts and minds. Can its fans do the same?

In 2012 the London Olympics united Britain in a unique moment of sports glory and showmanship. It was hailed at the time a watershed moment. Four years later, 52% of Britons voted to leave the European Union. Whilst the two events might not be related prima facie, there is, however, an element to take into account when drawing a line from Super Saturday to Brexit. Namely, multiculturalism - and its many benefits - was nothing but a mirage, an idea, that made us feel good about ourselves.

At the moment of writing England has not won the World Cup. They've yet to play Croatia and should they prevail, Gareth Southgate's team will face either France or Belgium in the final next Sunday, 15th July. However, a mainly young English team has captivated hearts and souls. Can England fans do the same?

I watched the England vs Sweden match in a bar in trendy Shoreditch, east London. The sort of establishment where a bit of nosh and a few drinks can set you back a few quid and make a big hole in your pocket, one that will last until payday. The atmosphere was friendly, the fans convivial. As the second goal went in, a couple standing behind me, hugged me. The security guard joined us, too. Yes, it was that kind of game. After the ref blew his whistle to signal England's victory, punters kept walking up to me and shouting (merrily) in my face: It's coming home! I smiled and repeated the (by now well-rehearsed) lines to them. For the first time in more than thirty years I, too, am getting behind the England team.

You see, I have always supported Brazil and Argentina. Let's skip this bit, though. Well, for the moment.

Why now? What is different about this England team? First of all, they have belief in themselves, an attribute that has often gone AWOL in previous squads. Secondly, Gareth Southgate is the dream manager every player would like to have. Supportive, driven and meticulous, he is all about football. No secret-lover distractions (Sven, I'm looking at you), or controversial comments on disabled people (please, don't hide, Glen). Also, the waistcoat helps. Thirdly, it is the team's ethnic make-up. 11 players out of 23 come from black or mixed-race backgrounds. This means that the young black kid from Tottenham or Brixton, can see themselves in Sterling or Alli (who scored the second goal against the Swedes). Speaking before the game, Southgate said: "We are a team that represents modern England and in England we've spent a bit of time being a bit lost as to what our modern identity is... Of course, first and foremost I will be judged on football results. But we have a chance to affect other things that are even bigger." It is this attitude that has the likes of me, black, foreign and a non-native speaker, looking forward to celebrating England's World Cup success next Sunday.

And yet...

Ugly scenes unfolded in London last night. A group of fans invaded an IKEA shop and wreaked havoc inside. As I cycled away from east London yesterday, crowds of people blocked Shoreditch High Street and Bethnal Green Road chanting (you guessed it) It's coming home! I was left wondering whether they meant the trophy or the hooliganism from 70s and 80s British football. I felt exposed and vulnerable. A black guy on a bicycle at six o' clock in the evening. Why? I didn't feel the same way on Friday when I went to the same bar to see Brazil vs Belgium (I said, let's skip that bit, didn't I?). The few Belgians in the crowd came out after the game to enjoy the sort of sticky, summery night London has been treating us to for the last couple of weeks. To my left there was a group of Brazilians. They, too, joined the conversation. We spoke mostly in English, but there was also a bit of Portuguese and French. Above all, there was human, that language that unites us all, regardless where come from.

Do England fans speak human? Can they get behind their team and at the same time banish all that built-in aggression and reputation that has followed them for so long (not all fans, by the way. The majority are law-abiding and well-behaved)? Before the World Cup, all the talk was about the Russian supporters and the awful scenes of the Euros two years ago. Yet, word has it that the Russians have been better hosts than many had assumed them to be. Look at how gracious they were in defeat to Croatia last night.

Football is political. Anyone who tells you otherwise is living in la-la land. Maradona's hand of God was a riposte to Britain's invasion of the Falkland Islands. Every time France plays a former colony, the latter's players give just a tiny bit more and if they win, the celebrations are out of this world. There's nothing like putting one over a former master. Were England to beat Croatia and Belgium win over France, next Sunday will see a clash between Brexit-bound England vs often-labelled bureaucratic Brussels. Who said irony was dead?

Seen in this light, those England fans who set out to destroy and cause chaos, represent everything that many - born here or not - fear: a feeling of superiority. Should Gareth Southgate's team lift the trophy seven days from now, I will be one of those punching the air and shouting: It's coming home! But, please, don't call it a watershed moment. After all, in less than a year, we will be exiting the European Union.

2018

Urban Dictionary

Staycation: (n) a vacation spent at home or near home, doing enjoyable activities or visiting local attractions.

Or what you do when you are skint. A little bit of honesty sometimes will not go amiss. Of course there’s more to “staycation” than finances and luckily, nowadays it’s a choice most of us can make. It’s even been recognised as an official word by the Oxford English Dictionary. So, all those holidays in the Wirral finally paid off.

But going back to choices for a second, I have often been told by people born and raised here in Blighty that many years ago low-income or working class families didn’t have many (choices, that is). Therefore, it was always a few days away in Blackpool in the summer every year. Or a day trip to Frinton- or Southend-on-Sea. Or whatever money allowed. Sometimes not even that. Two or three years would go by before a trip in the old banger was arranged hastily the night before for the morning after.

Blackpool, UK. But would you not rather be in Minorca?

But in recent years, low budget holidays abroad have changed that. Cheap flights, all-inclusive accommodation and a more moneyed (and money-minded) working class have contributed to the exploration of boundaries beyond Dover. Even if this still means some stereotypical British tourists trying to make themselves understood using the old method of SPEAKING IN A VERY LOUD VOICE, PRONOUNCING EACH WORD VERY CAREFULLY. Mind you, at least you lot are better than my lot. Cubans can’t even travel freely. And what to say of the pioneers of staycation, the denizens of the old socialist bloc? Yes, some were allowed to travel from the former Soviet Union to East Germany, for instance (as long as they toed the party line and they were considered to be model citizens), but the landscape in both Moscow and Berlin was coloured by the KGB and the Stasi respectively. Bearing in mind that most eastern European socialist countries were thought as extensions of the Kremlin’s back garden; staycation is an appropriate term to use. So, my dear Brits, please, do carry on ASKING WHERE THE EIFFEL TOWER IS. Clue: it’s right behind you!

This boom in short- and long-haul holidays left the UK tourist industry depending more on tourists trying to catch a glimpse of the Queen or castle-hopping. Suddenly Ayia Napa was far more interesting than Lyme Regis. Until 2008.

With the financial crisis of 2008 many habits changed. Holidays were amongst those activities that underwent a makeover. Because when you think of it, no matter how cheap your flight to Rome is, you still have to find accommodation. Maybe you want to incorporate car-hire, and how about the insurance? Suddenly that hundred quid holiday turns into a thousand –pound one. Compare that to £299 for a two-bedroom cottage in Devon that sleeps four. That’s the annual family summer holiday sorted. Yes, of course, there’s still the petrol to factor in and the catering, but does anyone really include petrol costs in their vacation planning?

Staycation is here to stay, pardon the tautology. I have always been of the opinion that one should (must, even) know one’s country like the back of one’s hand first before venturing out to explore other lands. I, unfortunately, have never been to eastern Cuba and that’s been in my to-do list for many years now for when we go back. As the saying goes, every cloud has a silver lining. Perhaps the economic collapse of 2008 will have inadvertently a positive effect on the younger generation and will awaken their desire to discover the wealth of culture, history and nature the UK has to offer. Who knows? Maybe it will be French-speakers they will come across, asking: OÙ EST LE CHÂTEAU ACTON, S’IL VOUS PLAÎT? Clue: it’s right behind you!

© 2014

Next Post: “Sunday Mornings: Coffee, Reflections and Music”, to be published on Sunday 5^th October at 10am (GMT)

Sunday Mornings: Coffee, Reflections and Music

You don't so much make a grand entrance upon arrival in Shropshire as tip-toe into it. In fact, you are already in the West Midlands county by the time you realise. One minute you find yourself on the M40 coming from London, the next you are driving on the M42 and before you know it you’re sandwiched by country lanes. Beautiful but dangerously narrow country lanes. Tooting your horn before each bend, alerting other drivers of your presence.

I had an absolute ball in Shropshire. Having been to Wales before, three years ago, this time my wife and two children spent eight days next door. And I mean next door. One day I went to Knighton with two of my brothers-in-law to do some shopping. The first thing I noticed was the accent of the folk in the little town. After I enquired about it I was told that I was now in Wales. That was a permanent feature of my sojourn in Shropshire. We kept crossing into Hereford and Wales and back into Shropshire.

Not that it mattered. We were all looking for relaxation, pure air and fun activities. We got those three things by the bucketload. First of all, we stayed in a converted barn that ought to be featured in one of those property programmes Channel 4 is so fond of producing. The Barn at Ryecroft is a picture-perfect, idyllic place to in which to spend your holidays. This – very reasonably priced - hay and stable conversion has solid pine beams, a wood burning stove (which we lit one night, well, you had to, really, although it never got chilly), two bedrooms (with a top bunk bed for the lucky child) and plenty of attractions nearby. This is the sort of rural retreat I could see myself buying in a few years’ time when I have enough money (yeah, right, dream on, my boy).

One of the local attractions was cycling. We searched online for cheap bicycle hires and Wheely Wonderful Cycling came out on top. Easy to see why; they had the works and their rates were affordable. Located in the Petchfield Farm, Wheely offered a wide range of routes on, mostly, traffic-free roads. The first time we got our bikes we went to Leintwardine, an old village with plenty of Roman history behind. We had our lunch on the banks of the River Teme on a day when the temperature was neither warm nor cold, just perfect. The second time we ventured further afield and chanced upon Hopton Castle, which played an important role in the English Civil War, on our way to the Rocke Tea Rooms. These were highly recommended by the people who ran Wheely Wonderful Cycling. And you know what, my lovely readers and fellow bloggers? The hype was justified. I had the best coconut and blueberry cake I’ve ever had in my life.

Another attraction was the town of Ludlow. I have a soft spot for quaint British villages and towns. In Ludlow’s case, besides having souvenir and antique shops, it has also gained a reputation over the years as a gastronomic haven. I must admit at this point that Michelin ratings do nothing for me. Give me pub grub anytime. Still, the Hindu couple who run The Plaice on the high street makes one of the better kebabs I’ve ever eaten. Plus, it was put on naan bread as opposed to pitta. Kudos for that.

After four days on our own as a family at the Barn at Ryecroft we joined my wife’s brothers and mother for a big reunion to celebrate the latter’s 80^th birthday. Her big eight-oh was actually back in February but this was the first time this year that he whole family came together. Eighteen people in a spacious, luscious and picturesque farm in the middle nowhere. Not even a phone signal could you get in Orchard House, a converted cow byre in Hicks Farm. There was however access to Wi-Fi, one of those modern quirks that I can’t quite figure out. There was even an indoor swimming pool which delighted children adults alike.

Like the Barn at the Ryecroft, Hicks Farm offered plenty of activities within walking distance. That word, “walking”, was key. I love going for a wander whenever I find myself in a rural area and there was no shortage of places to visit. One day we all got into our cars and drove all the way to the Long Mynd, one of Shropshire’s natural wonders. Once there we went for a short walk. Around us a sea of heather stretched well beyond our field of vision. Another time I took a stroll from the Hicks Farm down country lanes to a nearby second-hand bookshop I had seen a few days before when we had been riding our bikes. The physical effort was complemented by the smell of moth-eaten books, some of them with dog-eared, yellow, stained pages. I bought a very basic step-by-step guide to drawing (long story, no time to explain now) and after a while headed back to the farm.

If there was a downside to our holiday (and really, nothing stood out as negative) it was the length of it. I wish we had stayed longer at the Barn at Ryecroft. And the second minus was an outing we took to Kingsland to eat at a pub called The Angel. The food, although nice, was too pricey and we felt ripped off. Plus, one of the waitresses was somewhat rude.

I will never forget Shropshire, its rolling hills, its narrow lanes and rich history. I would strongly recommend all the places where we stayed to anyone wanting to get acquainted with the British countryside. Believe you me, it was a very enjoyable experience.

© 2013

All photos taken by the blog author

Next Post: “Food, Music, Food, Music, Food, Music... Ad Infinitum”, to be published on Wednesday 18^th September at 11:59pm (GMT)