I have finally decided to identify myself as being West Indian/Caribbean. For a long time I tried ignoring the question of what I identify with, but it was an impossible feat. When surveys or college applications came along, I never knew what box to check off; I would usually eliminate choices and end up marking off that I am either Black or Hispanic. It made me confused – was I supposed to fit in one of the categories? Does anyone know who I am, and more importantly, do I?
Category Archives: Immigration Narrative
Chrystelle Lanou’s Interview as told to Victoria Manna
Chrystelle’s Interview as told to Victoria
Chrystelle Lanou’s family was living in Port-au-Prince, Haiti until 1999, when Chrystelle’s mother decided that moving to the United States could give her children a life Haiti could not offer. Thought it was a grueling journey, Chrystelle and her family could not be more content with their decision to make the big move.
Continue reading Chrystelle Lanou’s Interview as told to Victoria Manna
Journey From India
When my father turned 21, he left India with his older brother and friends to find work abroad. During this journey, he travelled to Jordan, Switzerland, Germany, England, and finally the United States. He was amazed at how large the world actually is. Continue reading Journey From India
My immigration narrative
In the 1990s almost every Jew that lived in a Middle Eastern Arab country decided it would be better and more suitable to leave their place and go elsewhere. This crowd of migrators in our community are called “boats”, not because they left on boats but because they left in such a rushed and hurried manner that they looked like unsettled, olden age, individuals when they arrived at their new destination. Many moved to either America or Israel and brought their Middle Eastern (in my case Syrian) culture. Continue reading My immigration narrative
Grandma’s Story
Immigration Narrative
My Grandmother was born in Puerto Rico. I’m guessing somewhere on the outskirts of San Juan, but I don’t really know, and she can barely remember her own name let alone where she was born. Her name back then was Felipa Diaz. She had three sisters, all of who are now dead. Her mother and father were very poor, and she was sent to work at a very young age. Continue reading Grandma’s Story
