The Importance of Connecting with Your Roots

August is a pretty big month for me usually, a myriad of family and friends birthday’s, my own birthday, preparing to go back to university, the peak of summer, etc, etc, etc.

But one thing I often forget about, is the cultural significance of the month for me as well.

August 6th marks Jamaican Independence Day, this year was its sixty-fourth anniversary. I

hadn’t really celebrated it since I was a child, too young to remember, only being aware of

my attendance at any events through the recollection of my parents.

Of course. I have immense pride for my origins, I rep being half Jamaican any chance I get,

and it plays a massive part in my day to day life — usually in the form of the food that I eat,

be it pure authentic cultural food, or some sort of Caribbean-British fusion, (If you haven’t

tried Jamaican food already, I suggest you do as soon as you possibly can, since you’re

seriously missing out!)

Despite my admiration or my culture however, it’s not often I participate in the events,

Like Carnival for example: It happens every year, at the end of August, across the country,

with the most prominent of the bunch being in Notting Hill. Now, I’ve read about the event,

I’ve seen videos, done my fair share of research on the origins, and even wrote about it as a

way of weaving the history of my ancestors into my university assignments, and yet,

somehow, I’ve never been.

I still have intentions to attend Notting Hill Carnival in the near future, as a means of getting

to celebrate my culture on such a large scale, but the desire to attend has also ignited the

need for such a community driven experience.

Luckily for me, a few days after Independence Day, an event named ‘0121’ was held in

Birmingham, which I went to with my cousins.

To say it was a fun experience would be an understatement.

It was enjoyable, I got to listen to a ton of nostalgic music, being played on sound-systems (a

staple in Jamaican-British culture, and something carried over with the Windrush generation

from as early as the 1940s and 50s), but also the atmosphere was so welcoming.

I saw so many people who looked like me, who talked like my dad and paternal side of the

family, patois flowing across the square. It felt like home.

It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, as it was cramped from the sheer amount of attendees,

and the food cost a fortune, but the event in itself? It was perfect, and I couldn’t believe I had

not attended sooner.

It made me proud to be a part of my culture, to be one of the many people there, and in turn

it made me question why I neglected finding events such as this, and why I allowed a fairly

large cultural disconnect for so long.Ultimately, it acted as proof that the culture is still thriving, and that it always will be, no matter the impacts of colonialism, the racism suffered by the generations before me, the rejection turning into cultural appropriation by those who refuse to educate themselves, the scandals, the disrespect, the devastation with last year’s hurricane, back on the island many of my family call home. Our roots are planted deep, and I’ve grown to appreciate such, as I now know the fulfilment that connecting with them brings.

In the words of one of my favourite reggae artists from my childhood, the icon herself, Etana;

‘I Rise’ or more importantly, We Rise.

We’re ‘likkle’, but we’ll always be ‘Tallawah’ (meaning ‘We’re little but we’re strong’ for those

who don’t speak patois.)

Written by La’Keesha Stewart