Trini Tuesday-Nanzo

In September 1993 our family moved to Trinidad. Long time readers of this blog may remember the first year and a half of this blog when Trini Tuesday posts sharing vignettes, history, or cultural tidbits were a regular feature here. Newer readers might not have any idea part of my heart still lives in Trinidad.

When you pick up your entire life and move to a foreign country you go wondering whether or not you'll make friends, whether or not people will accept you. You go knowing you are leaving family behind you. If you are open to new people and accepting of them and if you are fortunate to find others who are open and accepting you find friends. If you are truly blessed you find someone whose heart is big enough to welcome you as one of her own; you find not just friends but a whole new family who draws you into its loving embrace.

In Nanzo, our family found that big, open heart. We were first introduced to her son Dean and his wife Petal, who became our closest friends. Their girls were playmates for Diana. They were the folks who most helped ease our transition during our earliest days in Trinidad. Early on Dean wanted us to meet his mom. She greeted us as warmly as anyone could and insisted we call her Nanzo, which was what all her family calls her. As we became acquainted we realized we had met her briefly during an earlier visit to the island. She was delighted to make this discovery as it meant she could dispense with some formalities. You were only a guest in Nanzo's house the first time. Dean and Petal became quick and true friends but Nanzo being the family matriarch very much set the tone for the entire family to welcome us. Every holiday, every family event, countless Sunday dinners we were included as one of the family. I was taught some of the finer points of Trinidadian cooking in Nanzo's and Petal's kitchens and in time some of my American dishes were requested as part of the family meals. Diana was dandled, watched, soothed, and swatted on the bamsee when needed because she was one of theirs too.

Nanzo was a first generation Trinidadian since her Hindu father immigrated from India. She told the story of how when she was born he wanted to kill her because she was not a boy. He had to be reminded that he was not in India but in Trinidad where he'd be hauled off to jail for committing infanticide. Nanzo never told this story with a trace of bitterness directed at her father but instead with a laugh that he could hold such views and with a peace in her heart because she said she knew instead her Heavenly Father had good plans for her because He saved her physical life and later saved her spiritual life. Nanzo didn't just talk faith, she lived it until it oozed out her pores but never in a holier than thou sort of way, just in the deep, love your neighbor as yourself way that counteracts any accusation of hypocrisy and embraces everyone. She lived it in a practical way that meets the needs she sees around her every day, not a pie in the sky way.

Nanzo quickly took to introducing Mr. Lime and me as her "white kids." Let me tell you, being included in family life is a wonderful gift. Being introduced in such an intimate way is a gift beyond measure. Nanzo had a tremendous sense of humor and an easy , bubbling laugh that echoes in my ears even now. I can close my eyes and see her big, dimpled smile with a gold tooth, her eyes shining brightly. When I got a little misty one day about being introduced that way she laughed and thumped me on the back saying this is a Trini family, we have all colors in our families, it's no big deal. Then Nanzo, who was Indian, told me how when she and her husband, who was a Dougla (African and Indian mixed background), had their last son the hospital tried to send them home with a Chinese baby. She protested that this was not her child and how could anyone possibly think he was. The nurse argued but when she persisted the staff told her to go pick the one who was hers. Now if you see her youngest son the family resemblance is undeniable but she often referred to him as her "Chinee baby" and told him when he misbehaved she could have had a nice quiet Chinee boy, always with a smile and a devilish gleam in her eye, never in anger.

If I was her white daughter, she was my Trini mom. She was a small woman with an uncommonly big and generous heart. The gifts of her heart were an unexpected treasure to find in my life when I thought I'd left family behind. Yesterday I got the news that on Saturday her great heart beat for the last time.

Rest in Peace, Nanzo. I will miss your hugs, your humor, your wisdom, your love, and your welcome when next I come home to visit.



Nanzo, forgive me for not having a better picture of you to put up here but you did love to fuss at me when I brought the camera out. It was only if you were cooking, which was serious business, that I could ever get a shot of you, because you wouldn't interrupt rolling roti to swat me away.