Bequians Abroad

You can take small children out of Bequia but you can’t take Bequia out of small children!  Our first family trip to Canada was filled with instances where Vanessa and Rachel behaved as they would at home on Bequia, often with funny results. Their nanny Arleus also found Canadian customs strange, and at times I felt I was looking after three children instead of just two.

After visiting with friends and family in Toronto we traveled to Muskoka in Northern Ontario to spend time at my parent’s cottage.  I had spent my childhood summers in Windermere and it held fond memories for me, taking my children there was something I had been looking forward to.  Vanessa and Rachel would swim in Lake Rosseau and fish for trout from the dock just as I had at their age!

Arleus and the children had been eating a lot of unfamiliar food in Canada, and for the most part they enjoyed it.  On Bequia they ate a lot of fish and loved it, fish in Canada was something they didn’t like. To them it was bland and tasteless and I had to agree, fish at home was much better.  Steak was something they rarely got on Bequia, any beef they ate had to be stewed, and they gobbled up the tender Canadian meat with enthusiasm.

Once we got settled in at the cottage Vanessa begged me to make some pelau, a West Indian chicken and rice dish the children especially liked. I made a big pot of food, we were not the only family visiting the cottage that week-end and there were a lot of mouths to feed.  For some reason chicken pelau never tastes the same when it’s not made on Bequia but it was still a good meal and the family devoured it with gusto.

Little Rachel was two years old at the time, and after sucking the meat from her chicken bone she tossed it over her shoulder. Whoops!  On Bequia the girls would eat on the porch and throw bones over the railing to Sheba, who would either eat or bury the treasures from above.  From the dining room table at the cottage the bone bounced off the big screened window and dropped to the floor.  I had to explain to Rachel that Grandma and Grandpa didn’t have a dog to eat the bones, and that Canadians would not feed their dogs chicken bones anyway. This perplexed the poor child, who thought that throwing chicken bones in the garbage was a waste of good food.

Rachel also disgraced herself by belching loudly after she had finished her pelau and saying, “Oh Gawd, me have niggeritis!”.  I don’t know which my parents found worse, taking the Lord’s name in vain or my little girl using the “N” word.  They were horrified by what she had said, and although Mac explained to them that “niggeritis” is a West Indian expression commonly used to indicate a full belly they were not amused.

My children were Bequians, and Rachel had given a fine demonstration of that at Grandma and Grandpa’s dining room table.  I could take Rachel out of Bequia but I couldn’t take the Bequia out of Rachel!