What I Learned About Family Taking My Daughter “Back Home” to Jamaica

For many visitors, trips to the Caribbean are about sun, rum and escape. As vacation-bound planes descend over the sea, everyday duties are cast into the waves, and tourists gladly surrender to the casual pace and captivating vistas of the island.

My trips to the Caribbean, specifically Jamaica, are somewhat different.

Though I'm Canadian-born, my connection to the iconic island can be traced through the dirt roads and painted gates of St. Elizabeth parish.

Growing up, we made several family trips "back home" to Jamaica. Each time, we would tour the parish, visiting second, third and non-blood cousins along the way. My mother pointed to landmarks from the rolled-down window of a left-steering car. "That's the old home where your cousin Lionel and I grew up. That's where we went to basic school. See how far we had to walk? And down that road is the way to Lover's Leap."

"Yes", my sister and I would sigh under our breath. "We know".

It was the same on every visit, whether I was five-years old or 30. Until now.

My mother, sister, husband, daughter and I cozied ourselves in Uncle Leslie's modest three-bedroom, one bathroom, country home. We didn't mind the close quarters as it also allowed us to be close to grandma.

The writer and her family with her 103-year old grandmother in Jamaica.

Each day, my 73-year-old mother looked after my 103-year-old grandmother. In the mornings she placed a mug of hot tea with a biscuit and not enough sugar into grandma's wiry hands. And in the afternoons, she sprayed the floor where grandma had missed the commode. She was always in the kitchen, bathroom or out back, tending to something or someone.

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I watched and fell in line. We all did. I fetched water with Uncle Leslie after sunrise and served floral-patterned plates of curry goat and rice to afternoon visitors. My sister scrambled fresh farm eggs for breakfast and soothed my daughter's itchy skin before bed. Meanwhile the hired caregiver catered to grandma's calls from bed. Even my daughter took to feeding Uncle's kid and calf throughout the days.

With four generations of female family in Uncle Leslie's humble home, there was a palpable sense of maternity.

Rather than hugs and kisses, their most heartfelt sentiments are often demonstrated through duty.

My sister and I sometimes sat with grandma and the elders who would visit before lunch. They shared crops from their gardens and talked mostly about their children — boys and girls who left town to attend college and were now abroad raising their own families. Grandma recited with a powerful voice and outstretched fingers, her number of "grans" and "great-grans" as she called them.

My daughter stood timidly by the bed with us. Grandma couldn't see or hear her, but reached out and took her soft little arm in a moment worth a thousand words.

As familiar as I am with the island culture, I gained a new perspective on this visit. I found renewed appreciation for the day-to-day duties of motherhood.

You see, acts of service are a common love language for Jamaican mothers. Rather than hugs and kisses, their most heartfelt sentiments are often demonstrated through duty. The love is in those bitter cups of tea and plates of nourishing food. And in the end, when their child-rearing is done, they look on with pride at the fruits of their labour: a family tree with strong roots, many branches and seeds yet to bear fruit.

Far from an escape, this trip was very much a homecoming. I arrived at a deeper sense of pride as both mother and daughter. And more important than what I took away from this trip, is what I gave — to my grandmother, mother, daughter and generations of family to come.