Deracinated. A strong adjective with a deep meaning that refers me back to this identity question, so precious to sense of belonging. By definition, a deracinated person is someone "who is detached from everything to which they were attached by close bonds or who has been torn away from what they held dear, especially their country of origin."
Let me introduce you to Audrey, my best friend and one of the greatest souls I know.
She’s thirty, freshly qualified as a business lawyer in London. But her journey started far from the city lights, on the beautiful island of Guadeloupe, in the French Caribbean.
Raised by a father entrepreneur and a mother teacher, Audrey grew up surrounded by ambition and curiosity. Her parents took their only child everywhere with them. Their adventures became like her classroom.
When her father got a new opportunity in Paris, they didn’t hesitate. They packed up their lives and moved, chasing growth, change, and new possibilities.
(Fun fact: Audrey and I actually met during her time in Paris, back in elementary school! We lost touch for years, then reconnected on Facebook two decades later when I moved to London. Talk about destiny.)
But the journey didn’t end there. A few years later, her father decided to take another leap, this time across the Channel. “Learning English will open even more doors,” he said. And so, they moved again, this time to London.
Audrey often says:
“I’m eternally grateful for my parents and their courage. They gave me choices, opportunities, and a worldview I might never have had if we stayed in Guadeloupe.”
When she arrived in the UK (in Kent, actually), she didn't speak a word of English. It took her some time to adapt to a language and a culture that were even further removed from her own. Time passed, and she has now been living in the UK for 17 years. She confessed to me one day that, although she feels at home here, she seeks to get closer to her Caribbean heritage as she gets older.
How does one reconnect with home when one is so far away?
This feeling of solitude, of being alone in the face of this unique experience of the in-between. This nostalgia for the colours of the country, the smells, and the landscapes that rocked our childhood. This sensation of being in constant shift between one's culture of origin and the society of our host country, to which we have been so well assimilated.
Some have sometimes only had the chance to glimpse the wonders of their islands through a postcard or phone calls with a far-off family. This refers us back to this identity search, navigating between several cultures and several histories that are often not our own but still resonate so well.
As a West Indian, I think this is a feeling we have always experienced in one way or another. Our people managed to forge an identity of their own, shaped by the complex métissage of African, European and Asian influences. This uprooting allowed us to create a distinct and rich culture. The Creole culture.
This culture is today our pride, pushing us to the quest for meaning and resilience in the face of trials. It gives us a strong notion of community, especially when we are far from home.
One evening in October, Audrey and I went to a party that honoured the cultural expression of Gwoka.
Organised by an association of Guadeloupeans in London, this night was an opportunity for us to dance, sing, and drum to the rhythms of our ancestors.
Leaving home, I grabbed a Lila Madras headband from my bag. It was inconceivable to me that my best friend wouldn't wear her Madras scarf for such a symbolic evening.
Upon arrival, I proudly crowned her in the eyes of the spectators. They no longer knew whether to watch the show, the crowned woman and the magnificent piece of Madras placed on her head, or all three at once. It feels like a marvellous painting from antan lontan.
In that moment, I was very proud to see the power a Crown could have. Not only because Audrey proudly wore her Malka Crown, but especially because it was in Madras. I am sure her grandmother would have been proud to see her wear it with such elegance and pride. I saw my best friend so happy, feeling like she belonged there, representing her heritage so loudly and proudly.
That night, I understood that our Crowns are not just pieces of fabric. They become roots for those who lack them, a bridge between what we have lost and what we still carry within us. A Crown doesn't fix everything... but it reminds us of where we come from, and sometimes, that is the first step to finding ourselves again.
