A Summer in Little Guyana

It’s 2001. The summer air is thick with mosquitoes. Smoke rises from barbecue grills armed by uncles with big bellies. Kids that share my accent race by with their Razor Scooters since the road is caution-tape closed. Elderly hands pass out popsicles from front porch stoops. Teenagers blast the latest soca. My aunty has met with the other aunties, and together, they’re throwing a block party on 129th Street in Richmond Hill, Queens. Young people dance, old people gyaff, and life is one big lime in an area that will officially be dubbed, Little Guyana, 20 years later. 

I share this memory because it was one of the first times I saw my Indo-Guyanese culture normalized. Though born in New York, I grew up in South Florida where Indo-Caribbean communities were less centralized. Brought together by their proximity to religious fixtures and West Indian supermarkets, the Indo-Caribbean community remained in small hubs that undoubtedly paled in comparison to Richmond Hill. 

In Richmond Hill, the community overflowed with immigrant families and their stories of perseverance amidst unimaginable odds. On Liberty Avenue, the aroma of freshly baked tennis rolls engulfed the streets, while colorful saris adorned store windows. Here, the first-generation children who navigated all intersections of American culture resembled me. Like my Queens-bred cousins, their CDs were played loud with the car windows rolled down, even if it was Babla & Kanchan. The fast-moving microcosm of my parents’ homeland, Guyana, was a refuge from assimilation—it was a boastful celebration of our culture, food, and heritage.

In retrospect, I realize I loved visiting Queens because of the unabashed visibility of my culture. It taught me that I shouldn’t have to compartmentalize my Indo-Guyanese and American identities; they could co-exist. Today, I aspire to represent my culture meaningfully while also supporting other communities of color that struggle under oppressive institutions of power. 

Despite a history of indentureship and colonialism, I’m grateful to be intertwined with our resilient, borderless community. It’s refreshing to know that we can always celebrate Indo-Caribbean culture like a hot, summer block party in Little Guyana.