Top: Karaine Smith-Holness, who hails from Jamaica. Bottom: Gamaliel "Gammy" Moses, who is from Dominica and immigrated to New Haven in 2005. Lucy Gellman Photos.
The sound of drums soared across the New Haven Green, a singsong call-and-response beneath Gammy Moses’ outstretched palms. At first, it was quiet, a suggestion of something not quite reachable. Then it took shape, resonant and round. From a few yards away, Amanda Byam let herself lean into the sound, putting the final touches on a table dedicated to the island of Grenada.
If a person closed their eyes, they could see the late Elaine Peters beaming from ear to ear, watching from the front row in a gem-colored, gauzy blue top. Within moments, she was everywhere—in the warm summer breeze, the sound of the drums, the laughter bubbling up from the youngest dancers in the grass.
A jubilant, sometimes-sacred and vibrant sense of community flowed through the 11th annual Caribbean Heritage Festival on the New Haven Green Saturday, as vendors, artists, and cultural educators gathered to celebrate the breadth of a diaspora under a bright summer sun. Held in partnership with the International Festival of Arts & Ideas, it included both a festival and a closing concert, with Haitian performer Joel El Chèlbè and headliner Nadia Batson.
Batson, a soca phenom who hails from Trinidad and Tobago, is the first Caribbean woman to headline on the Green. By the time she came to the stage Saturday evening, thousands had filled the Green to hear her, some wrapped in the flags of their home countries as others waved handkerchief-sized bandanas. As it has for the past three years, it closed Arts & Ideas with rafter-raising, joyful noise, a testament to the diversity from which New Haven draws its strength.
In keeping with its history—which has braved a global pandemic and traveled from City Hall to Goffe Street Park to the New Haven Green—the festival took place at the end of June, which President George W. Bush named Caribbean-American Heritage Month in 2006 (it was introduced by U.S. Rep. Barbara Lee).
“With everything that is happening, it is more important that we all come together to realize that we are more similar than we are different,” said festival co-founder Karaine Smith-Holness, who launched the festival in 2013 at City Hall (she is also the beloved president of the Jamaican American Connection or JAC). “We're able to come together and dance to the same beat. Listen, they can't stop us if we hold true to the fact that we are all in this race together.”
“I think because we come from small islands, sometimes we don't know that we are here,” added Edmonds, a daughter of Dominica (“which is not in Jamaica” and is not the Dominican Republic, she said several times Saturday) who has been part of the festival since 2014. “This is a space for us to come together in one spot, to introduce ourselves to each other.”
“There are also people who have been in New Haven a very long time, who may never be able to go to the Caribbean,” she added. “And we bring it to them.”
That sense of cultural exchange was everywhere Saturday, from vendor tents and educational booths strung up with flags, instruments and photos to a humming row of food trucks that lined Temple Street. At one edge of the setup, New Havener Mosi Moses greeted passers-by at a table covered in different drums, eager to chat about her native Dominica. Rocking wide black pants with a bright, peach-colored madras trim, she laid her hand on the side of a tambora, her palm sliding against the smooth, light wood.
Mosi Moses: Cultural exposure is critical.
“How much are these?” an attendee asked as she stopped by the table. She eyed a large black djembe, with a thick, ornate band of undulating waves carved around the body.
“Oh! They’re not for sale!” Moses answered gently, as if it was a reminder of how precious and intangible cultural heritage can be. She later motioned toward the stage, explaining that the drums belonged to her brother.
Raised for the first half of her life in Dominica, Moses moved to New Haven in 2005. Even as she’s made the Elm City her home, she works to teach people about the “hidden gem,” where mountains and dramatic, lush rainforest regions rise up from the iridescent waters of the Caribbean Sea.
Beneath the drums, which belong to her brother Gammy, she had laid out a light madras tablecloth, showing off the pattern that has become synonymous with Dominica itself.
“It’s so diverse and people need to be exposed to it and share it,” she said.
She turned to continue a conversation with Johanelyz Arroyo, a rising senior at James Hillhouse High School who was named Miss Puerto Rico of Greater New Haven earlier this year. Arroyo, who was representing Cabo Rojo with a shell-studded gown, said that she’d first thought Moses was talking about the Dominican Republic. She was grateful that she now knew the difference.
Moses smiled: that’s part of the reason she does this work. The two countries may be bound by a diaspora, but their histories, their cultures, their foods each have their own unique identity.
Jarel "Mystic Saxx" Bartholemew, who stayed for the evening performances.
Back on the stage, Gammy Moses paused for a moment to remember Peters, who was a fixture at the festival. In the early 2000s, Peters worked closely with Moses’ father, Delmance “Ras Mo” Moses, to host the “All City Carnival” in the summers. When she heard that the city was starting a Caribbean Festival in 2013, she called up Smith-Holness and got involved. For years, she’d come ready to teach attendees about Barbados, in a tribute to her own Bajan heritage.
Now, Moses said, the rhythm of his drums belongs to her, at least some of the time. As dozens of conversations rose and fell beyond the stage, he looked down at his djembe, letting everything else dissolve as he held it between his kneecaps. Beneath his outstretched hands, the notes were ethereal, light enough to seem bird-like. A beat, and it seemed as though they were carried by a human voice. Moses, who often brings spoken word and poetry to his work, let the drum speak entirely for itself.
As they listened, friends Samantha Murray and Jacqueline Torres spread out on the grass, letting their little ones dance to the beat. Before Saturday, Torres said, she had no idea the festival was happening—but when she saw it on the Green, she went home, changed her outfit, and came back with her three-year-old son, Israel.
In her home, the Caribbean influence is strong: Torres is Puerto Rican, and her husband is from Haiti. As a mom, it’s important to her to pass both of those cultures onto the next generation.
“I think it’s always good to remember your roots and where you come from,” she said. Murray, who had brought her young sons Casimir and Azriael, agreed. She loves chances for them to learn about different cultures, especially those that make their home city the diverse and polyphonic place that it is.
Top: Friends Samantha Murray and Jacqueline Torres with their kids. Bottom: The TrinBago Crew in action.
At a red-and-black festooned tent nearby, Stacy Samuel and members of the TrinBago Crew set out mango and apple sodas, squat jars of pepper sauce, and well-loved volumes of folklore, the covers faded but still bright. On a red tablecloth, a miniature sculpture of a steel pan sat perched on an equally miniature easel. Behind it, a half-full bottle of Puncheon rum peeked out like an invitation.
“Trinidad has come a very long way,” said Benesson Andrews, president of the crew. He pointed to a tiny version of the steel pan pinned to his shirt, a tribute to the country’s long history of resistance and its hard-fought journey to independence. Behind him, Samuel and Michelle Cave set out containers of barbecue chicken, corn pie, and potato salad. “It’s very important to get our name out there.”
That’s something Andrews knows firsthand. Born and raised in Morvant, in the north of Trinidad, he learned to play steel pan in school, soaking up both its sound and its history. In 1999, he immigrated to Hartford, where he’s lived ever since.
Despite the miles that separate him from the West Indies, he teaches that culture and heritage through food and the arts, including music, he said. While he no longer plays pan himself, he spends time traveling to listen and document it, particularly in New York’s vibrant Caribbean communities.
“This is to share our culture with everybody,” Samuel chimed in as she gestured to dark, carefully wrapped balls of Toolum, a sweet, gently spiced Trinidadian treat made with grated coconut, molasses, orange peel, and ginger. Beside her, Andrews pointed out cool jugs of lemonade and mauby, a drink made from spices and boiled tree bark that takes on a deep red hue, somewhere between oxblood and ruby.
Dancer Kyndal Rice, who has grown up with the festival.
Back on the stage, dancer Kyndal Rice seemed to float through the warm air, her arms flying out to the sides as she extended a leg, and began to spin. A rising senior at Sacred Heart Academy, Rice has known Smith-Holness for her whole life through her mom, Paula (“she knew me before I was even born,” Rice said after performing, as she took a swig of water). When the family heard about a festival where they could celebrate their Jamaican heritage, it became an annual tradition.
In some ways, Rice has watched the festival grow up with her, she said. The first time she took the stage, she was still in elementary school, and the festival was still in Goffe Street Park. Now, she’s getting ready to apply to college, and it has moved it downtown with new creative partners like the Shubert Theatre and Arts & Ideas. Along the way, Rice has taken on new dance opportunities, like classes with the Alvin Ailey Dance Theatre.
“It feels amazing,” she said. When Rice takes the stage, she carries the stories of her maternal grandparents, who came to the U.S. from Jamaica decades ago. Every Sunday, her family still makes time to see them at their home in Bridgeport. Her goal, she said, is to honor them—and to push herself—through her craft. “I practice every day, and it’s really helped me evolve.”.
In the grass, someone had gotten a bubble machine going, and the huge, soapy orbs filled the air, prisms of light bouncing off their sides. On one side of the stage, a giant, flame-hued pair of wings peeked out from a tent dedicated to Mas, or the tradition of masquerade during Carnival. An approving squeal went up as Isonnette Grace O’Brien posed against them, feeling their weight on her back.
A princess with Miss Puerto Rico of Greater New Haven, O’Brien soaked in the moment, letting herself listen to the laughter around her, the soca beats now drifting from a DJ on stage. A rising senior at Common Ground High School, O’Brien is both Puerto Rican and Belizean, and grew up feeling like she didn’t belong to either culture. Fellow Boricuas told her she wasn’t Puerto Rican enough (“People called me a Fake-o Rican,” which was incredibly hurtful, she remembered). Belizeans told her she wasn’t Belizean enough.
But Saturday, she was right where she was supposed to be. Nobody questioned her right to be there. In a long red dress and tiara, she told other attendees about Bayamón, as known for its love of flavorful Chincharrones, or fried pork rinds, and for the arts and sciences. Every few minutes, she made her way from one booth to the next, often shoulder-to-shoulder with other members of Miss Puerto Rico of Greater New Haven.
“I feel very proud to show people that Puerto Rico is part of the Caribbean,” added Junior Miss Puerto Rico of Greater New Haven, Sophia Olivia Quiñones. Earlier this year, she won the title while representing Sabana Grande, known for its dozens of prodigies—”poets, comedians, actors, singers”—and its rivers. Saturday, she showed off a dress meant to represent that history.
With fellow contestants Chloe Rivera and Eddielyz Domenech, she made her way from one table to the next, soaking up information as she did. At a booth for Guyana, she took in a game of island jeopardy, written to teach attendees about the small island country one question at a time(do you know what the most popular sport in Guyana is?).
Kadijah Nicholson and Aralia Heggs.
Before the festival, New York transplant Aralia Heggs had come up with the questions, splitting them into categories like “food” and “trivia.” Saturday, she said that she’s always excited to share knowledge about the country, whence her dad comes.
“I feel so proud [to be Guyanese],” said Heggs, who moved from Queens to Stratford four years ago to afford a bigger home for her three children. Growing up in New York, her dad made sure she knew about her roots, from food to games of cricket to soca music that reliably gets her dancing.
So when she heard about the Caribbean Heritage Festival, she knew that she wanted to participate—especially when she found out that there wasn’t a Guyana booth. She enlisted the help of Kadijah Nicholson, a fellow New York transplant who is also Guyanese, and met Heggs through her partner. “It’s cute and simple,” Nicholson said of the game.
Just one tent over, Amanda Byam and her mom, Barbara Byam, put the finishing touches on a table dedicated to the island of Grenada, which also has not had previous representation at the festival. Joining the festival felt natural, they said: Barbara grew up in Trinidad and Grenada, and loves sharing that history with friends and family.
“For me, it’s an honor,” said Amanda, communications manager and board liaison at Common Ground High School. Growing up in Brooklyn, she learned the culture through her parents, from curried chicken, saltfish, Pelau and oil down to music that filled their home.
“I often feel a responsibility to represent something bigger than myself,” she said. “In the Caribbean, we’re a loud voice, and we’re very bright and vibrant, but sometimes we lack representation.”
Barbara and Amanda Byam.
As she walked between stations, attendee Deborah Pullen said it was good to be back after several years away. While she’s not Caribbean herself, her children are Jamaican, through their father. She’s always held on tightly to the importance of teaching them about the island that half of their family comes from.
Those lessons feel particularly urgent this year, she added, as she watches attempts at cultural erasure from both individuals and from the federal government.
“It’s extremely important,” she said. “I think culture is being cancelled. To keep culture alive, we have to show up. We don’t need other people to tell us who we are.”
It echoed something Smith-Holness said in a phone call Monday morning, when asked how the festival feels against an increasingly anti-immigrant backdrop. In the future, she dreams of having a portion of the event related to diasporic foods, like curry and rice and peas that differ from country to country.
In Jamaica, for instance, rice and peas might be made with coconut milk, scallions, kidney beans and scotch bonnet pepper. But in the Dominican Republic, they are Moro de Habichuelas, scented with different spices and diced green pepper. In Haiti, the same dish becomes riz et pois rouges.
People are the same way, Smith-Holness said: they may have different stories of migration, but share a common humanity. Or as Edmonds put it, “united by culture, divided by water.”
“You cannot cook with just one seasoning!” Smith-Holness exclaimed. “Not just salt. Not just pepper. You need a blend to be the best that the meal can offer.”