One of the more interesting things to happen in the neighborhoods west of Washington Street this summer has been the arrival of Afghan families one year after they were uprooted from their homes some 6,550 miles away.
They have come as families and been dispersed in pockets around Dorchester. They are known officially as refugees, but I’d rather call them our new neighbors.
Afghanistan and its capital, Kabul, fell to the Taliban for the second time a year ago this month, and we watched in horror the desperate attempts by Afghan people, who had helped America and who wished only for peace, try to escape at the Kabul airport. Many narrowly escaped, and many were left behind.
So, it came as quite the surprise this summer when some of these same folks began appearing in the neighborhood, so friendly and so full of gratitude to be here. It has been a joy to hear their stories about how they made their way out, about buying time in Qatar, then landing state-side at military bases in the Midwest. Now, they are here in Dorchester looking to start over.
This is extraordinary. Others may shrug their shoulders, but I think it’s a noteworthy event in our corner of Boston. A few of these new neighbors were very excited recently to see our family garden, the cucumbers and tomatoes and hot peppers growing right there by the porch. I figure it’s a scene probably very familiar to them, something maybe they did at home in Afghanistan during more peaceful times. I enjoyed giving them a few cukes as a token of welcome, and now we count them as friends.
It seems almost ethereal to have prayed intently for these folks just a year ago, and then to have them with us seeking peace west of Washington.
Many Haitian refugees from Texas arrived here earlier this year as well, and many of them still live here. I believe many of them found some peace here just as the Afghan folks are now doing. This is not the kind of thing that happens everywhere, and it offers a great opportunity to practice humanity. I invite all my neighbors to extend the hand of friendship to these folks who have traveled to Dorchester along so many perilous paths.
A homage to the red plastic cover
With Boston Carnival this weekend, Caribbean-American heritage of all kinds is as much in full bloom as the hydrangea plants. There are a ton of little and big differences between the islands, some of them too big to overcome for the insider groups. But one thing I’ve come to find is there are more things alike than different. In that vein, I honor the red plastic cover thingy (see photo). If you’ve been in a Caribbean home, or live in a Caribbean home, then you know of the red plastic cover thingy. One note – it can be turquoise or yellow, but it’s usually red and a massive two feet in diameter. The cover has been brought from all sorts of warmer climate countries, but mostly it is a critical piece of the Caribbean kitchen. The covers are used to put food under, whether cooked food or ingredients – the idea being that the plastic dome-like cover will keep out flies, bugs, creepy-crawlies, varmints, critters, or anything else that might threaten the foodstuff.
The infamous red plastic cover thingy – a staple of most every Caribbean kitchen.
I am an enemy of the red plastic cover thingy. I don’t like it. I think it’s sort of a man-fortress thing; no man likes to think his house has any kind of infiltration. I’ve tried to get rid of the red thing from our kitchen more than a few times, yet it always comes back sooner or later.
“We don’t need it,” I say. “But we could, and sometimes we do,” say those in charge of the kitchen. My lines-in-the-sand are always met with a counter-offensive in defense of the red plastic cover thingy, and that defense includes “the sucking of the teeth in disgust,” maybe spiced with staccato, “Hmms” afterward. That’s called a Caribbean cruise missile. If you know the red plastic cover thingy, then you know the power of “the sucking of the teeth in disgust.” If you don’t know it, you’ve been spared.
Summer tradition on Hewins Street
The block party is perhaps the wheel that turns the summer in the neighborhoods west of Washington and no one does it better than those who live on Hewins Street who run the oldest and longest-running block party in Boston, which is saying something because there are more than a few block parties on the books.
Hewins Street did it up again this month, with the sounds of a parties and the smells of BBQ meats and burgers lingering up and down the street. Bouncy houses, a dunk tank, some notable political drop-ins, and a good old-fashioned game of musical chairs – that was the program, along with great neighbors having a good time before the pleasant days give way to cold afternoons and Bostonian hibernation. Congrats to Hewins Street on 50-plus years of summer fun.
