It wasn’t until I left Trinidad for much colder climes I discovered I was black.
All my life I had been a so-called “red girl” – a racial hybrid with Indian, Caucasian, African and Chinese anscestors.
Mixed, middle-class, prestigiously schooled and commensurately sheltered, I railed against the hyphenated identities adopted by Indo- or Afro- Trinbagonian peers.
“I’m a Trini,” I would insist when faced, as I so often was, with those who demanded to know how I defined myself.
But what did that mean? It was a question with which I struggled. I lacked a defined cultural context.