A Love Letter to the Caribbean We Know by Heart
By Michael Babwar | The Caribbean Times
Before the sun peeks over the mango trees, the air in the Caribbean is already awake. A rooster crows,
a steelpan note floats from a distant house, and somewhere a mother hums while stirring her pot of
saltfish and bake. This is not just another morning — this is a memory we live every week. It’s the
sound of belonging.
We search for big moments — carnival, elections, grand speeches. But the true rhythm of island life
lives in the small things: a shout across the fence, ‘Mornin’, Miss Lorna!’; the squeak of a hammock in
the shade; a radio announcer teasing, ‘yuh know is bacchanal season again!’. It’s the heartbeat of a
people who make beauty out of the everyday.
Every island stirs its story into the pot. In Jamaica — jerk smoke curls like prayer. In Trinidad — curry
simmers like sunshine. In Saint Lucia — green figs and saltfish tell a tale of home and hope. Our
flavors are our flags. Our recipes, our rebellion.
We’ve danced through hurricanes and sung through struggle. We’ve rebuilt, rewired, and reimagined.
Caribbean people don’t just survive — we thrive. We turn hardship into harmony, pain into poetry, and
every setback into a comeback.
“We rise after storms. We rise after migration. We rise every morning with hope as bright as
the sea.”
The new Caribbean generation is remixing tradition. They’re coding in Kingston, filming in Bridgetown,
and designing in Port of Spain — all while carrying the rhythm of their ancestors. They’re proving that
the Caribbean isn’t small — it’s global. Our voice echoes across oceans, proud and unstoppable.
Whether you’re in Georgetown, Grenada, or the Bronx — the Caribbean lives in your laughter, your
rhythm, your love of life. We are one people, many islands, countless dreams. And as long as drums
beat and waves whisper, the Caribbean story will never end.
and then 