The Aunties

I have had a lot of aunties in my life.  In this lovely land of my birth and in my generation children were taught to call all older women, with whom the family/relatives were close 'auntie'.


 I remember a couple of aunties who had this amazing ability to take 1 small bit of something (fruit, a tart, a package of nuts) and share it between 8 or 9 children, me being one of them, leaving all of us satisfied.  

Then there were the aunties who could plait hair.  My father could not plait hair, he tried but it wasn't too wonderful (lol, smile, warm memories of Daddy trying).  So when the aunties offered to plait my hair, boy o' boy, was I ever happy! Now plaiting hair is a part of a Black female’s life and there are some people who can do hair and some people who cannot.   That contact between big women and little girls, fingers removing tangles, oiling the scalp,  gently or sometimes sharply tugging the strands,  then putting the hair in two or three plaits for school or creating a topknot, if you were off to ballet lessons.   You sit on the chair or a stool or more familiarly on the floor between the knees of the ‘plaiter’ or ‘braider’, an auntie, and you the’ plaitee’  or ‘braidee’ must be very patient.  If you have an auntie who could plait, you will end up with a nice hair comb and no headache.  With a plaiter who could not plait you might end up with a good hairstyle but the tugging and pulling of the hair was never worth it for me.

I had aunties, the sisters, girlfriends and wives of my father’s friends who could sew and being an only girl child, these seamstresses showered me with beautiful clothes!  I was shy so when others complemented by clothing I would cry.  I especially remember crying and hating a skirt made by Auntie Eileen, its lower edge heavily hand embroidered with coconut trees, limbo dancers, steelpans and other things distinctive to Trinidad and Tobago.  As I grew into young adulthood, while the skirt could no longer fit me, I appreciated Auntie Eileen’s handiwork, hard work and love.  I got the opportunity to tell her so at her 86th birthday party.

Chinese aunts, Negro aunts, Indian aunts, Caucasian aunts, Creole aunts and all variations in between were mine.  No one showed race, only love.  I recall not too long ago, when I worked at directing research activities, I dropped in to visit an auntie and uncle whom I had not seen for many years.  On being invited to join me on the visit, the staffer, with whom I worked on the field that day, declined but with a little persuasion from Auntie, she was soon on the porch, having a cup of tea, eating a piece of black cake remaining from Christmas and leaving my auntie’s house with a boiled corn nestled warmly in its original packaging of husk.  The staffer revealed to my shocked mind that she was apprehensive and perturbed by the invitation since she was of East Indian descent and we of course, are Negro: Black people.  She actually said and I paraphrase here, “buh de treat meh just like we”.    She saw more resemblances than differences.  That day unknowingly my dear sweet auntie broke down the racial divide just a bit.  

Auntie Jean let me into her family at age 8, when I arrived for the first time in Canada.  I remember her always serving sandwiches liberally spread with butter and some other filling.  I, not liking butter and being too shy to let her know was compelled to take them to school since they did not make it down my throat at the lunch table and of course, she would say, “you will get hungry, later”.  Well, they never ever made it to school either; instead I would stuff them into the snow banks at the side of the road!  With the onset of my first spring, I was worried that the melting snow would reveal my indiscretions!  Let me tell you, it was a tense spring.  

Mrs. B, another auntie,  whose sons were at university with my father answered all my questions on running a household as she prepared delicious meals for her family and “babysat” me in her home.   She seemed to always have my favourite dessert, Jell-O, on hand, just for me to enjoy, I thought.   I also heard about life on the ‘gold coast’ of Ghana and in Medicine Hat, Alberta places where she, her husband and young family had lived for many years.   Now,  there was the  my auntie whom  I wanted my father to marry so very much; I loved her a lot. No, I never stopped to think  if they loved each other, I didn’t think of that at 11 years old,  I loved her a lot!  Lol!   But that (marriage) never occurred and as an adult, she revealed to me that my father and she were only platonic friends.  I was still disappointed.  Ha! Ha!


As a teenager I found my aunts by bloodline to be impressive.  Simple ladies and educated women who probably protected their nieces and nephews way too much for our own good.  There was the one who could season a fish – ‘Boss’ and plait hair without giving pain.  I’ve related to you previously about my aunt, the educator who made wonderful sweetbread and ponche de crème.  Another aunt is remembered for keeping me from getting many a licking: I simply hid behind her ample rear, while she implored my father to forgive and forget.   She was the one who also understood that we young ladies had to have boyfriends; she was not fooled by my cousins’ falsely innocent cries to the negative.  The eldest of my father’s sister  with her strong bold laugh would have no difficulty if I simply wanted to stay in the fold of her loving arms for long periods.  Her apartment was decorated by old-fashioned rag rugs and bedspreads of many colours also made of scraps and oh so beautiful to my eyes.  I still have a chenille (candlewick) bed covering of hers, faded now with age, that I keep simply to remember her.  They used to tell me that I would grow up to look like her and now  as I age I see more of the resemblance;  I don’t mind one bit.  There was also the aunt whom I never truly knew since she lived in South America.  I learnt to love her through the wonderful stories, told by all the relatives, of her expressive love and humour.

My mid-twenties was the commencement of receiving love from the aunties of the maternal side.  Ladies who made you feel as if you were always in their lives and perhaps indeed I was in their hearts since my birth.  Aunties who enquired as to my studies and showed an interest in my explanation of subjects of which they knew naught.    Ladies who defended me with a ferocity, that for me, was both puzzling and wonderful at the same time.   One auntie also took the time to go partying with me and my friends,  joining in the dancing and joking making everyone feel so comfortable, while at the same time giving me lessons in what behaviours to accept from a man,  that now so many years later, she is still remembered fondly by them.  Aunties who told me that I was their sister’s child therefore I was their child.

The aunties continued to come into my life, giving and giving of their time, their wisdom, their spaces, their funds.  I have aunties who children think I am family because I am always included in every activity of the clan.  I have aunties who opened their homes and never made me feel different than anyone else in their household; they sat me down and gave me the speech, when they thought it was needed, they stayed awake till the wee hours  of many a Sunday morning waiting for my return from a Saturday night party!

Aunties who did not care that I had no money to make a contribution to the household, they just opened their homes and their hearts.  Today, there are a few aunts who are like soul sisters: we think so much alike!  The funky auntie who taught me mediation and did yoga and tae kwan do and still as an octogenarian is into zumba exercises.  A former male friend still telephones me each time he sees her driving to let me know that Auntie A is looking oh, so chic and sexy.  Hmn, I wonder about him!  LOL!  Just kidding.

As I reflect on the aunties, I can also see that they were/ are not perfect for many had/have some mean and wicked ways, stinging tongues and some are downright selfish.  I am choosing to remember their goodness: that legacy of unconditional love, generosity, kindness and strength through adversity.

There are only a few aunties in my life now and as I too age, I try to make time in the business of living to connect with them more frequently than I did in young adulthood.    Like them, I am now an “auntie”, different than most, the many “nieces” and “nephews” tell me.  I hope I am an asset to their lives: the aunties, nieces and nephews.