For many immigrant and first-generation families in the US, hunkering down to protect each other in a crisis can be an all too familiar experience. Massiah said growing up in a household of migrants from Antigua and Barbuda, she always “learned to be prepared for the worst”.
By Kenya Evelyn
Sio Massiah’s Oakland neighborhood isn’t as diverse as the one she grew up in in New York City. Ahead of California governor Gavin Newsom’s shelter-in-place order, she had to travel across town to one of just two Bay Area Caribbean markets to grab her favorite foods.The rare trip showed her just how different her self-quarantine prep was from peers who didn’t grow up in a mostly African and Caribbean community.
“Before, I never understood why [my family] bought so much rice. But kale isn’t going to get me through a pandemic,” she quipped. “When I got there and rice, plantain and corned beef hash were already gone. I knew all the other West Indians made their runs.”
For many immigrant and first-generation families in the US, hunkering down to protect each other in a crisis can be an all too familiar experience. Massiah said growing up in a household of migrants from Antigua and Barbuda, she always “learned to be prepared for the worst”.
“Back home, they prepared for hurricanes, for shipments not making it from the port,” she said. “Our families sometimes come from dire situations already, only to come here and struggle to climb the socioeconomic ladder.
“So regardless of your experience, survival becomes a way of life. We become our own experts.”
But immigrant communities also face unique challenges that are only heightened amid a worsening coronavirus pandemic in the US, especially those concentrated in urban environments.
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