Homesick

I was born in Trinidad, in the West Indies. I have chosen to make my home in Norwich, England. I don't regret this decision, despite living so far from my family. The tickets have been booked. On the 3rd of April, Boy and I will fly out from Gatwick and in 10 hours, delays etc notwithstanding, I will be home again. It's been 3 years since I've been, and I ache for it.

The Trinidad I knew when I was growing up, no longer exists. It's a harder, more dangerous place to be. But I ache for the warmth of the sun, the sound of crickets and gekkos in the house, the softness of the evenings, the effervesce of the people. Everything is so much brighter, louder there.

The part of me that is a Trini, for most of the time, is unseen. I lost the accent very quickly when I moved here. When I'm in the UK, I'm considered a bit exotic, a little bit different. Over there, I'm nothing special. Over there, I can disappear into the woodwork. No one asks me where I'm from, how long I've been here, the heritage of my parents.

I'm cooking a Trini meal for some friends on Sunday. This morning I did the shopping. On the menu: avocados, salad, stewed chicken, rice 'n' peas Roses style, plantains and pigeon peas. I had to go to 5 different shops to get all the ingredients. My final stop Waitrose. I just needed some Lea & Perrings, avocados, limes and alcohol. When I rocked up to the checkout, the very prim and proper middle aged woman in front of me, took one look at the contents of my shopping trolley, sniffed and pressed her lips into a thin line. I didn't think 4 cans of cider, 2 bottles of red, 1 bottle of white and a bottle of Trinidadian rum excessive for one o'clock in the afternoon. But hey, what do I know?

This afternoon, I seasoned the chicken. Lots of garlic, onions, ginger, chilli (without the seeds), thyme, chives and coriander, lime juice and the Lea & Perrings. Note to self: get a large mixing bowl. I washed my hands 3 times, there are some mistakes that don't get repeated: rubbing eyes after chopping chilli, being the main one. I put the chicken into the bottom of the fridge and then I sniffed the air.

It smelt of home: La Seiva Road. I could see my Dad potter about with my lovely niece; my nephew laughing, as he does from his belly. The grandma from my brother's wife side, chatting with the maid as they cook the meals for the day. My brother heading off to work in his brown overalls and trainers, his gorgeous wife whirling around to follow him. I nearly cried.