Among the Garifuna: Family Tales and Ethnography from the Caribbean Coast

Part 1

The Old Ways

Margaret and Cervantes Diego were the progenitors of the family in this story, and their courtship and traditional wedding are described. The outrageous behavior of Delores, Cervantes’s second wife, shows the customs and problems inherent in a polygynous marriage. After Cervantes’s funeral and Margaret’s year of mourning, she and her children and Khandi, her sister, return to British Honduras, their original home. The hair-raising storm they endured on that trip suggests the three children’s personalities and the roles they will play in the story. Alvarez Salivar becomes an important part of the family’s life.

With the help of Khandi and Alvarez, Margaret struggles to raise her children as Cervantes would have wished. But Innocente never reconciles to the abandonment by his father. Santa becomes a hellion, and Tas rebels against Margaret’s unbending rules.

A Garifuna Wedding

Larube, British Honduras, 1926. Margaret Sabal gazed into the bedroom mirror for a final check. She wanted to look her best on this important day. Her scarf set straight over her brow. Amber eyes sparkled in her oval, caramel-colored face. Just five feet tall, the eighteen-year-old girl’s body was supple yet strong. The starched pleats of her traditional woman’s skirt knifed above her bare legs and feet.

It’s time, daughter, her mother said. They’re waiting.

As Margaret entered the front room of the house, she saw Cervantes sitting under a white wedding canopy. His close-cut black hair framed twinkling brown eyes, set above high, angular cheekbones. Broad shoulders filled his white-on-white embroidered shirt. He looked calm as he listened to her father and the other men advising him about skills in fishing and the duties of a husband.

Margaret chuckled, remembering a different look on Cervantes’s face when he saw the knot of wood her father had asked him to split. It was the time he first told her he wanted to marry her. Good enough for him. Thought he could pass the test with one lick of the ax. I wonder where Papa found that black mangrove stick? Probably been saving it for the test. She inwardly smirked. Might as well have handed Cervantes a boulder to split. And Papa smiled so innocent when he said, ‘Oh, Cervantes, my friend, Margaret’s mother needs some kindling for the fire. Would you help her?’

Anyway, Cervantes passed his test quicker than I finished mine. She sniffed. It’s just as well we’re moving to the Spanish side. Cervantes’s auntie would be hard to keep satisfied. That old lady is something else. Walking all the way down here, handing me those dirty shirts to wash. She must’ve scrubbed that first one in grass. A frown creased Margaret’s brow. And what’s she think? I don’t know how to leech recado? I saw her checking up that morning. Watching how I sprinkled those shirts in the sun. I wonder what she’d have said if I’d returned them with red stains. She’d already been to talk with Papa. Turns out they’d been plotting before I even noticed Cervantes.

She looked across the room at her future husband. Well, I don’t need to worry about the last test. I know I’m a virgin; and for sure Cervantes knows what to do. There’ll be blood on the bed cloth for the old ladies to see in the morning.

Margaret sat beside Cervantes under the wedding canopy and listened to her female advisers.

First duty of a woman is to her children.

A good woman keeps her children well and her husband satisfied.

A smart woman doesn’t rely on her husband’s pocket for support. They’re partners but, should the husband fail, the smart woman has her farm, so she can feed herself and her children.

As the adults continued their instructions, Margaret recalled the beginning of their courtship. On the first visit, Cervantes had listened to her father tell stories and never once spoke directly to her. She was disappointed when he sailed to Honduras the next morning. I thought he liked me. I know he watched when the women danced, and he certainly made a show when the men sang. Maybe he was just passing time here.

A month later, she was sure of Cervantes’s intentions. He came to the house again, and again he and her father talked and talked, while she sat, mute, in a corner of the room. But this time her mother interrupted the conversation and called her father to the yard. Alone in the room with the handsome man, Margaret turned her back to him and looked out the window. Why doesn’t he say something? What’s wrong? Then she felt a small seed hit the back of her neck. She remained still until another seed fell into her lap. She turned to Cervantes and tossed the missile back to him. That seed hit her father as he reentered the room. Margaret turned again to the window as though she had no interest in the men’s conversation.

But Margaret could think of nothing except Cervantes. Twice the next morning she forgot to tend the cook fire. Her mother railed up, Hell, girl, you’re good for nothing. You think a man wants a wife that burns tea? Leave the fire and go fetch water.

So, Margaret thought, running toward the stream, somebody’s thinking about marriage! Has Cervantes spoken to Papa? What will happen next? She hadn’t long to wonder, because Cervantes was waiting at a bend in the path.

He drew Margaret to him, kissed her, and stood back. I’m sailing to Lidisi tomorrow, he told her. "I’ll be gone six weeks. It will take that long to prepare my house properly. I want it strong and nice, with two rooms. When I come back, I’ll be looking for a partner to go into that house. Someone with her bread bowl and grater, maybe a tump basket for the farm. The cassava is planted, and there’s coconut and plantain. My Uncle Francisco lives in the next yard, so there’s a raguma and sieve we can borrow in the beginning."

Margaret swatted a mosquito to hide her confusion.

Cervantes grinned and waited for her to look at him. Well, woman, will you be ready?

The girl’s heart was pounding, but she only nodded and walked on to the stream.

Next evening Cervantes’s aunt came to talk with Margaret’s parents. As the wrinkled dowager started out of the yard, she called the girl to her. Child!

Auntie?

My back’s been bothering me; and that rascal, Cervantes, left me with shirts to wash.

I’ll do them for you, Auntie, Margaret volunteered. The old woman nodded and handed the soiled clothes to her.

Two months later Margaret sailed with Cervantes to Honduras. A year later, Khandi, Margaret’s younger sister, arrived in Lidisi. She set up house close by Cervantes and Margaret’s home.

A Garifuna Marriage

Lidise, Honduras, 1928. Shortly after their first child was born, Cervantes took a second wife: her name was Delores, a young woman who lived in San Pedro. Margaret wept, because she knew that multiple wives and partners were accepted customs among the Garifuna (group of Garinagu [Black Carib]). So long as the husband showed proper respect to each wife, and acknowledged his children, there was no reasonable argument against it.

However, Cervantes tried to break the rule. He returned to Margaret’s house after establishing a home for Delores in San Pedro. As he undressed for the night, he dropped his soiled clothes on the floor. Next morning, when Margaret collected them for washing, she found two additional sets added to the pile. She washed the ones he had taken off the night before but left the rest lying on the floor. That evening Cervantes grumbled, What’s this? You’ve been too busy to pick my clothes off the floor?

I wash what you wear here. Margaret’s jaw jutted. You can take the others back to the woman who helped you soil them. That was the last of that foolishness.

The Revolt

Tegucigalpa, Honduras, 1933. Cervantes Diego held his breath as a fly walked across his nose. He dared not swat it. Since midnight he had been hiding under a mound of discarded baskets in the marketplace. In the early light of dawn vendors began arriving. Any movement might betray his presence. Through slits in the woven reeds, he could see where Pedro and Felipe were hiding. He waited for the signal that would send them leaping from cover to overpower the guards of the Spanish barracks.

Careful now. Cervantes shifted, seeking relief for his cramped muscles. He froze as a Kechi Indian couple passed close by the basket, coming so near that Cervantes could have reached out and touched the man’s hemp sandals or his bloused cotton pants. The Kechi shuffled across the brick plaza to a spot near concrete steps that led up to the barracks of the Spanish soldiers. There, the man rolled out two mats and watched while his wife unloaded cabbage, onions, and peppers from her tumpline basket. She arranged the vegetables in green, white, and red rows. A second Indian couple displayed oranges and two live iguanas. The women squatted behind their goods, smoothed their hairlines, and straightened their long black braids.

The plaza filled rapidly. Cervantes recognized two Garifuna women carrying head baskets loaded with green and ripe plantain. The almond-skinned woman had kinky black hair, while the hair of the black-skinned woman was as straight as that of the Kechi Indians. The African and Indian mix all ways in us Garinagu, Cervantes thought. Even the eyes show the mix. Blue, gray, green, brown. The women’s skirts swayed gracefully above their bare feet. They laughed and called to friends in Garifuna. "Idebiangi? How’s it going? Ouwatigati bugeti? Not bad, and you?"

The sun rose, changing the dew to steam. Sweat streamed down Cervantes’s neck. He grinned as four men carrying a load of fresh fish entered his line of vision. Two more followed with conch and lobster. Good. There’s Carloto and his men. Right on time. The others should be taking their places. He squinted at the sun, gauging the hour. Time for the patrols to leave. Once they’re gone, we can take the guards. The rest will be easy.

Now the plaza was crowded with customers touching, turning, and examining the wares. Indian, Garinagu, and Latino spoke the language of the marketplace. "Como? (How much?) Tres por cinco (Three for five)."

Cervantes licked his lips, wishing he had an orange to quench his thirst. He watched the patrol form on the verandah above the plaza. The rebel held his breath as the black-booted soldiers marched within inches of his hiding place and then through the plaza and out the west gate. He listened as their footsteps clacked off the plaza bricks and were muffled in the dust of the unpaved streets.

A second patrol formed ranks. I’ll wait a half hour, Cervantes calculated, and give the soldiers plenty of time to be away from here. As the second patrol left the plaza, the anxious man closed his eyes and moved his lips in a silent prayer. Hear me, Old People. Let this plan for revolution work for your children. Help us free ourselves from the Spanish yoke. You fought and died to escape bondage on Saint Vincent. Now your children ask to be free in this new land to fish and farm and raise our families in the way that you taught us. We only ask to be left alone. Let us be Garinagu! Then he waited.

At last Cervantes stirred. It’s time now. His chest tightened as his heart beat faster. Surprise is the key. Moving as little as possible, he flexed his cramped muscles, preparing to jump from beneath the baskets and give the attack signal. We must catch the guards when their backs are turned, wrestle their guns away from them, then fire on the others. Now! Adrenalin shot through his body as he pushed from beneath the mound of baskets to leap upon the guard nearest his hiding place. But the guard was not at his post! Cervantes spun around. Soldiers were rushing back into the marketplace through both plaza gates. Other troops streamed from the barracks. They raised their rifles and began shooting, shooting everywhere.

Cervantes leaped behind a post. The Kechi woman lay bleeding across her vegetables. Cervantes tore his gaze from her to see Carlato frozen with shock. The sweat of terror burst from Cervantes pores as a hole opened in Carloto’s forehead, followed by an explosion of bone, brain, and blood. Carlato’s body thrust backward and crashed upon the ground.

We are betrayed! Cervantes choked with rage and despair. Who was it? Alphonse? Juan? There was no time to think. As his comrades fell, Cervantes joined the horde of frantic men and women stampeding away from the bullets, leaping across overturned stalls of fish and fruit, leaving bodies strewn behind them.

Cervantes did not stop running until he reached his own tiny village of Lidisi, ten miles from the town where the revolt had been aborted. He would never be safe in Lidisi, but he had to let his first wife Margaret know that he was alive. He hid in a grassy ditch near his house until dark. Then, as he had seen no sign of soldiers, he crept across the sand yard and went inside.

Cervantes! Margaret was putting their children to bed. Terrified for his safety, she burst into tears of relief at seeing him alive. He stepped toward her and, in a desperate embrace, crushed her tiny body against his huge frame. He murmured her name and caressed her cheek, treasuring the feel of her smooth caramel-colored skin beneath his palm, fearing he might never see her again. His strong mouth twisted with bitterness as he stroked Santa’s infant face and took Portacio into his arms.

Innocente, mind your ma while I’m gone, he told their elder son. Take good care of her. He settled Tas’s plump body back onto his sleeping mat, kissed Margaret one last time, slipped out the door, and disappeared into the night.

Cervantes Diego ran for his life, heading south along the beach, splashing through the tide’s edge so waves would wash away his footprints. He prayed to Bungi (supreme supernatural) that no one would notice his silhouette against the luminescence of the bay. His plan was simple. He would run five miles down the coast to the village of San Pedro where his second wife Delores lived. His dory was beached there, and he could sail it across the bay to British Honduras, where his third woman lived. He would be safe in British Honduras. Later he could send for his wives and children; or, once the furor had died down, and the soldiers were no longer looking for him, he might even slip back to Honduras for a visit. His feet churned the sand as he ran hard, steadily south toward San Pedro. A slight breeze stirred in the salty night air and cooled his body. He thanked Bungi that there was no moon. He ran, praying to the ancestors to keep him safe from the soldiers.

There! At last! Cervantes strained his eyes to make out the dark mass of his boat. There it is! He felt the beginning of relief through his fatigue. No sign of pursuit. He would escape! He would live! He threw the anchor rock into the dory, then decided, I must see Delores again before I go. A familiar heat flooded his loins as he thought of how his touch sent spasms of pleasure coursing through his wife’s young body. I’m so close. I must hold her just once more and kiss our little daughter. He whirled about and raced across the beach. Ahead he could see the line of their roof and a glow from the dampened supper fire. Just a few minutes more, and then I’ll be on my way.

He cut through a clump of palm trees and circled to the back of the house. Suddenly soldiers were upon him, surrounding him, beating him to the ground. No! he cried, fighting wildly, kicking and flailing in a frenzy of disbelief. A rifle butt crashed against his skull and brought him down. He heard a voice say in Spanish, Juan was right. He couldn’t stay away from his whore. Another responded, Just kill the dog, and let’s get out of here. A shot was fired, followed by a second; and Cervantes Diego bled his life onto the sand.

The Second Wife

It doesn’t look like a baby, Moma, Terese complained as her mother slipped a small dress over a dried plantain stalk.

We can paint a face after I sew the hem, Delores said. Your doll can have black hair, and we’ll draw a mouth and nose.

I want a real doll, the child pouted, like Papa carves from a stick.

I don’t know how to carve, Delores snapped at her daughter. We must wait till Papa gets home for that. Cervantes should spend more time here in San Pedro, she grumbled to herself, and not always stop with Margaret and her brood. Just because she has three children shouldn’t mean he spends extra time with them. She frowned. I’m sure he’s in Lidisi, but he won’t come here ’til next week.

Delores sat up straight at the noise of a scuffle outside. No! she heard a man’s voice yell. That sounds like Cervantes! What’s going on? She stood up, then froze with terror at the sound of men shouting in Spanish. A gunshot exploded through the night, then another. Doll clothes scattered on the floor as Delores leaped to the window and peered out. Soldiers! she gasped.

Moma! Moma! Terese shrieked, grabbing her mother’s skirt. Delores pushed the child away and peered out into the night. Men ran off through the darkness. Then she saw Cervantes’s crumpled form on the ground. Horror burst from Delores’s throat in a long, shrill cry. She ran across the yard and collapsed on top of Cervantes’s body. She wept hysterically, while neighbors came out of their homes and crowded around.

An old woman hobbled over to her sobbing niece and placed a gnarled hand on her shoulder. Get up, child. There are things you must do.

Delores turned a wild, tear-streaked face to the old woman. I can’t, Auntie, she choked. The old woman tightened her grip on Delores’s shoulder. I’m sorry, child. Truly I’m sorry for you, but you must catch yourself up. Now!

No! No! Screaming, Delores clutched Cervantes’s body.

Auntie pulled the wailing woman to her feet. Covered with sand and blood, she struggled to throw herself back onto the corpse, then gave up and leaned against her aunt. The old woman supported Delores to the house. A neighbor carried the terrified Terese to another home.

Three men talked quietly in the shadows. Alvarez, said Marin. Take Cervantes’s dory and go tell Margaret. We’ll bring him there in two hours. Ramos, you fetch his hammock while I get started here.

Alvarez left, and the other men wrapped Cervantes’s body in the hammock that he had used when he was with Delores. They carried it down to the beach and laid it in a dory, then returned to the aunt, who was trying to calm her hysterical niece.

Alvarez is on his way to tell Margaret, Ramos said. We should soon follow. The body won’t keep long in this heat.

Auntie nodded and handed Ramos the bundle of clothes she had collected. Then she turned to Marin. Delores is weak. Help me get her to the beach.

Within an hour the group of mourners was sailing north, with the corpse of Cervantes Diego, toward Margaret’s home in Lidisi.

Cervantes’s Wake

Margaret roused from sleep. What was that sound? she wondered. The children are quiet. It’s after midnight. Maybe some bush-spirit moving about.

Miss Margaret! The voice that had woken her came again.

That’s not a bush-spirit. They don’t call twice. Her small, muscular body jerked to attention as she remembered her husband’s brief visit earlier that night. Her fear-choked voice hissed, "What do you want,