By Dr Selwyn R. Cudjoe
June 20, 2022
The argument started when Camille Robinson-Regis called Kamla Persad-Bissessar out of her name. Kamla responded by casting doubt on Camille’s “slave name,” which played right into a deep cultural rift that exists within our fragile social fabric. Whatever the merits of each argument, as my mother would have said, “Is the answer brings the argument.” Hopefully, in this case, the answers should allow us to see our cultural blindness.
Black people were not “stripped” of their culture and religion when they arrived on this earth. People are literally their culture. They cannot exist without it. They are also carriers of culture. They take their culture and religion with them wherever they go and adapt them to the new land in which they find themselves.
In an illuminating documentary, Bigger Than Africa, African filmmaker Toyin Ibrahim Adekeye traces how “Yoruba culture survived and transcended slavery beyond imagination to remain alive today in the New World” (Deadline, May 4, 2022) . The documentary examines Yoruba practice in six countries (Brazil, the United States, Cuba, Nigeria, Trinidad and Tobago, and the Republic of Benin) and demonstrates how our people spiritually adapted to those countries.
It therefore stands to reason that African people brought their religion and culture to Trinidad and Tobago, adapting their religion and culture to cope with the realities they encountered. It may be offensive to accuse an African person in the Americas of having a “slave name”; such an accusation can also be interpreted as senseless pushing. It is not as deep or as thoughtful as the insulter might think.
When I grew up in Tacarigua, I lived within the Yoruba culture. My grandfather, Robert James, son of Jonathan and Amelia Cudjoe, was born on 5 December 1869. He married Delcina Moriah Bonas, born in Barbados in 1875 but migrated to Trinidad. Delčina, like all women, was the main bearer of the family’s culture. Every November she faithfully cooked the unsalted meals for Shango’s feast held at Mother Gerald’s palace. Mother Gerald was the main Yoruba priestess in the village. My grandmother also observed and passed on other Yoruba rituals and practices to her children and grandchildren.
This became clear to me five years ago when my cousin, Marva, and I visited Misslet, the oldest surviving member of my father’s line, who lives in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. As soon as we arrived, she asked us to take her to the supermarket to buy some fish. We asked him why he loved that fish so much.
She said, “I want the fish to make my annual offering to our ancestors.” When asked about the offering, she said it was a meal that “consisted of a slice of unsalted fish, rice, dhal and any kind of food. When I finish preparing the meal, I put a glass of water and a glass of white rum next to her. Then I begin to pray to our ancestors, calling them by their names, saying that I brought you food and drink, and I ask that they guide us all. Then I leave them food at night.”
I asked him who taught him this and how long he had been doing it. She replied: “I saw mom [meaning our grandmother] doing it. When Ma died, I continued to do it.”
She confessed that we were the first people she had told this story to. At age 88, she still resides in Fort Lauderdale and apparently still carries on the practice of preparing annual meals for our ancestors.
I don’t know if Delcina Moriah is a captive name. Even if it is, the name does little to make black people who we are. As I have tried to explain, our culture is the main factor in making us who we are. Our experiences during slavery, especially in Trinidad and Tobago, are secondary factors in defining our identity.
Although it is meant to be offensive when someone accuses an African-Trinbagonian of having a “slave name”, the observation is not as profound as it is supposed to be. It only means that one has adopted a name that suits the culture in which it was deposited. This does not mean that one is stripped of one’s culture because one had to adopt a new name in a new environment. This only means that a “historical compromise” must be made with the new environment.
A person’s name is not necessarily an indication of how one lives one’s life or the degree to which one devotes one’s African allegiance. Although CLR James, Walter Rodney or George Padmore (Nurse Malcolm before adopting the latter name) possessed “slave names”, this did not in any meaningful way affect their identity or sense of who they were. They worked to improve the lives of people of color and produced tomes that help us know and understand who we are.
James, the son of an enslaved African, was willing to join the Ethiopian army when Italy invaded Abyssinia (or Ethiopia). Padmore, author of The Life and Struggle of the Black Workers, dedicated his life to the liberation of black people throughout Africa and the diaspora. Rodney wrote the seminal work, How Europe Underdeveloped Africa. He died at the hands of another black man who objected to his devotion to African and Indian people. Their “slave names” were never an indication of who they were.
So while Kamla wants to preserve the sanctity of her name, she must be careful not to dishonor the lives and struggles of others in the process. It’s something she needs to think about carefully.
