More than Emerald Waters: Finding Haiti in Turks & Caicos

 

 

 

My employer had arranged expedited customs, and the young woman escorting me to my hotel transportation and I instantly clicked. By the time she introduced me to my driver, I learned she was Haitian; born in Haiti but raised in Turks and Caicos.  Throughout the week, I kept hearing Haitian Creole in hotel lobbies, grocery stores, and restaurants. Suddenly it all made sense.Turks and Caicos reminded me of Haiti not only because of its beauty, but because so many of my brothers and sisters have built lives here.  There was continuity. An ancestral invisible thread.  A familial connection I never expected to find.

 

 

Normally, I hate work trips that keep me away from home for too long. But after one dangerously strong rum punch from the Ritz-Carlton. I decided I was going to make this week count. I vowed this week to enjoy this island as hard as I’ll work this meeting. 

 

After nearly every “Welcome to Turks and Caicos,” one question always followed as predictably as the blue skies. “Are you going to the Fish Fry?”

 

In my mind, a fish fry meant exactly what it sounds like—a handful of food vendors serving up the freshest seafood on the island.I imagined a quaint backyard gathering where the aroma of fried snapper, escovitch fish, and every delicious sea creature imaginable filled the air.  A pescatarian girl’s culinary paradise.  Before I even checked into my hotel, I’d already decided: drop the bags, grab a drink, then head straight to this Fish Fry everyone kept talking about.  The weather was so perfect that I decided to take a stroll there.  When Google Maps told me it was a 25-minute walk, I rolled my eyes.  Then I remembered the twenty pounds I’m trying to lose—and those newly acquired back-fat rolls: “Yeah, girl…get to walking.” Honestly, it never felt like 25 minutes.  I was completely overstimulated—in the best way possible.  Between the palm trees, new construction, ocean breeze, and trying to absorb every sight, sound, and smell around me, the walk felt like all of five minutes.  Then, I arrived.

 

Local vendors under tents

 

Walking up the gravel road, I heard live music before I saw anything.  And when I looked around…The only thought that came to mind was: “This ain’t no damn Fish Fry. So much more!” There were dozens of local vendors beneath colorful tents selling everything imaginable—fresh island food, handmade jewelry, artwork, clothing, desserts.

 

It wasn’t just a place to eat.

 

It was a celebration.  A gathering where the people of Turks and Caicos collectively said: “Welcome. This is who we are.”  Standing there as the island breeze settled over me, slowly calming the anxiety I’d carried with me from the United States, I realized this was so much more than a fish fry.

 

After dancing my hips loose to family-friendly reggae and devouring some incredible cracked conch, your Blissfully Single girl was ready to call it a night.  I clutched my tiny pour of Hennessy and looked toward the exit, hoping to find a taxi that accepted credit cards.  Then the MC introduced the band. There was no way I could leave now.

 

Junkanoo Costume

 

Before I could even finish the thought, a whistle sound pierced the air. The roar of drums fill the space as beautifully melanated musicians emerge through the crowd adorned with brilliant costumes; bold colors of turquoise, orange, and yellow work together and harmoniously pull a vibrancy from the crowd that drives the biggest moment of the Fish Fry.

 

I can’t adequately describe what happened next. Language fails me here.  The atmosphere shifted.  The already hot night somehow became heavier—thicker—with energy.  It felt ancestral. It was as though every person there transformed into one living, breathing heartbeat. 

In that moment, there was no race.

No gender.

No titles.

Just people.

 

The music led us somewhere beyond ourselves.  It immediately reminded me of that unforgettable scene in Sinners, when the juke joint becomes something almost spiritual—a time portal through music that connects generations, cultures, and histories.  The rhythms the band played sounded strikingly similar to music used in Haitian Vodou ceremonies to summon our ancestors.

 

 

Watching the energy and the people around me dancing, things take a cinematic turn as, in my head,  the scene, everything around ne slowed down, and the intensity ramps up. We’re all here, enjoying this moment, together. We’re one.  I left the Fish Fry completely elated and incredibly grateful that I hadn’t let a long day of travel convince me to stay in my hotel room.

 

Throughout the week, people kept asking me, “What’s been your favorite part of Turks and Caicos?” I usually gave the safe answer: “The water.”  After all, these were work colleagues, and I’m rarely unguarded around them.  But the real answer?  The people: the Haitians living in Turks and Caicos that made my week feel like home.  My kinfolk.

Whether I was in my hotel, a grocery store, or a restaurant, I was constantly surrounded by the beautiful melody of Haitian Creole.

 

I asked a few locals why there were so many Haitians on the island.  One explained that Haiti sits only about 90 minutes away by boat from Cap-Haïtien. Many risk dangerous crossings in hopes of building better lives for themselves and their families.  Those people—my people—made me feel spiritually closer to my mother this week than I have in a very long time.  That, without question, is the best part.

A close second?

Watching the sun melt into the Atlantic during a sunset cruise.  This little tèt grenn (nappy-headed) girl from Brooklyn; I simply marvel of the places I’ve been able to travel to.  I don’t take a single blessing for granted. 

Until my next adventure…

The sunset over the Atlantic is an unbelievably beautiful view.

 

Blissfully Single and Yours,