I fell in love with Rapadou all over again…
I’ve always loved rapadou-everything about it, the way it looks, the way it feels, the way it smells, and most of all, the way it tastes. Especially the way it tastes. Nothing tastes quite like rapadou. It has a unique, distinct taste, very difficult to describe, but unbelievably delicious. Because of the way it’s processed, rapadou has a delicious caramel flavor. It’s delicious alone, and on anything that’s sweetened with it. There are other flavors as well, what I call sub-flavors, that are present as well. These flavors start a party on your taste buds, a party that keeps you going back for more.
There is a certain stigma about rapadou, though, in my neck of the woods. It is categorized as poor people’s food, and as such, only certain people eat it in public (or even admit to eating it); people like the help, maids, butlers, and the very poor who cannot afford “luxuries” like white sugar. The irony! In short, if you ate rapadou, you ate it behind closed doors, and no one was supposed to know.
I never really understood this association. For me, it was always such a treat to get a piece of rapadou, or a glass of rapadou sweetened limeade. I looked forward to getting a piece every time Grandma came to visit from the countryside. I’d savor every lick. I’d rub some lime on it and just enjoy just enough to satisfy my cravings, always mindful to save the rest for later. I wanted to prolong the sheer bliss it brought for as long as possible. I would try to hide it in my hands and clench my fists very tightly, so no one knew I had any. A combination of the friction and heat caused it to melt, and I would lick the syrup as it dripped through my fingers and down my hands. Later, I would savor another bite. I would repeat the cycle until it ran out. Oh, the sadness I felt when it ran out.
I would barter “luxurious” white sugar with the children in the neighborhood, who I’m sure thought they were getting one over on me. I was much younger than most of them, so my youth must have been an area they thought they could exploit. I would trade my limeade made of white sugar for theirs, made of rapadou. I would give them my snack, which often was a piece of fresh fruit like a mango or a banana or even my food, in exchange for their rapadou. A neighbor even tried to chase after them because she thought they coerced me into trading. She complained to my mother that they were taking advantage of me. In my mind, I was the one who was getting over. I traded things I didn’t like or was tired of for something that bought me pure joy. I was so upset with the neighbor for messing up my gig- I remember thinking she needed to mind her business. Here she was, worrying about me…little did she know, I would have given up all my food to get a piece of the delicious treat any day.
Back then, I didn’t know anything about the health benefits, nor did I care. All I knew was that I loved that delicious flavor. I heard music in my head every time a piece hit my taste buds. I rocked from side to side, humming with every bite.
A few years ago, I overheard this guy talking about rapadou as I waited in line to get a phone fixed. He was diabetic and could no longer eat white sugar. I didn’t hear much of his conversation, but when I heard him say rapadou, it triggered pure nostalgia. I started to want some, and I went from one Caribbean store to the next until I found it. A few months later, I was developing recipes for pen patat. The amount of sugar used in traditional recipes really bothered me, so I attempted to make it with a healthier alternative to sugar. After months of trial and error, I struck the perfect balance between health and taste. That’s when I fell in love all over again…with rapadou. I never knew rapadou had all these health benefits and was so good for the body. Maybe if I did, I wouldn’t have liked it so much. Farmers grow the sugar cane organically and it is processed the least out of all sugars. This is what gives it its delicious caramel flavor. Rapadou is different from white (refined) sugar because white sugar removes the nutrient-rich molasses during the refining process. In addition, white sugar has more sucrose. Rapadou sugar has less sucrose than refined sugar because of the remaining molasses. This gives Rapadou a low glycemic index: that long and slow release of energy into your body.
In addition, rapadou is high vitamins and minerals that helps the body to function better. Vitamin C helps the nervous system function better, among other benefits. Vitamin B6 contributes to the formation of red blood cells and prevents dizziness, and niacin helps fight against high cholesterol. It is also rich in riboflavin, thiamin, calcium, phosphorous and potassium.
Rapadou adds a rich, caramel flavor to anything it is added to, such as your baked treats, desserts, cooking & sauces. I still enjoy it on its own, just like I did when I was a child. A popular bible verse reads "When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things." That is one childish thing did I did when I was a child, but I will not put away as an adult.
A Reflection…A Cleanse…An Apology
These days, I seem to spend a lot of time reflecting on the state of the world. I find myself wondering if these are the signs of the “last days” the bible warned where “nation will rise against nation and kingdom against kingdom”. With the war in Europe, gun violence everywhere, sky rocketing food and fuel price, and still coronavirus is not done with us, it’s hard not to wonder.
I’m not writing this as a religious piece. By no means am I preaching. I’m probably the least qualify person to be preach. I grew up in the church and yet I struggle with religion. I believe in a higher being, a supreme being... call it God...call it the Universe…Call it whatever you want… I believe in Its existence and presence. I also believe in an evil spirit, call it Satan, or whatever name you want to call it. But when it comes to religion, understanding religion in particular…that’s an entirely different story. The more questions I ask, the more confused I get, and the less sense religion makes. I guess that’s why faith, the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen, is the foundation of all religion.
One of the main things I find myself doing for quite some time now is comparing my views to the views I held 10, 15, 20 years ago. I try to examine if and how those views have changed overtime. In the 7th grade, on my way to school, I took notice of writing on a sweatshirt that read “the knowledge of self is to know where you come from, to see where you are and understand where you’re going” (or something similar). I see me in the present as the middle piece of a three-part bridge and I often look back at the past to help shape the future. Muhammad Ali says, “a man who views the world the same at 50 as he did at 20 has wasted 30 years of his life”. In my forties, I am happy and proud to say that I’ve notice a drastic change in my thinking compared to when I was in my twenties…when I knew it all. For me it is a wonderful thing!
This month, perhaps because June is pride month, I find myself thinking about my views on homosexuality. In my twenties, I was what was often referred to as a “conservaDem”, a conservative democrat. The bible was the foundation for everything and if it contradicted what the bible says or what the church preached, then it was wrong...even though I had so many internal conflicts about many of the things myself. In particular, I hated being less than because I’m a female, as it was often preached. I tuned out any sermon on the subject. I often told myself “They might as well say that Jesus died on the cross for men”. At my core, I always believed in fairness and equality. My Language Arts teacher wrote, “of all the kids I ever taught, you were always mature and reasonable…except when you said that’s not fair” in a farewell speech she wrote in my yearbook when I graduated from the eight grade. I’ve always had a keen sense of right and wrong. Slavery was wrong…segregation was wrong…discrimination was wrong, lack of access to food and healthcare was wrong…wrong…wrong…wrong... Similarly, I’ve also always had a strong view on gender equality. Needless to say, that I believe gender discrimination too was wrong. I was convinced that I was right, and I was always ready and willing to defend my position against anybody… and no one could tell me otherwise.
I was a conservative Christian, and my views were in part shaped by “God” i.e., the bible and I made no apology for them. I resented being discriminated against, whether it was race based or gender based. It was wrong…even though the bible, or the interpretation of the bible in many ways justified both race-based and gender-based discrimination. The book of Genesis talks about the curse of Ham, “dark or black” skinned people of Africa to perpetual slavery because he sinned against righteous Noah. This has been the foundation and justification for slavery for centuries. Ephesians ordered “wives to submit to your husbands” and in Corinthians, it states that “…but the woman is the glory of men”.
I now realize, the belief that discrimination was wrong only applied to me or people who were like me …you know the “God-fearing, self-righteous, know it all Christians”. It was wrong to discriminate against us! It never occurred to me that I held some of the same bigoted views against others that I resented so much and fought was against in my home, my church, and my communities. Worse, I think it did occur to me, it simply didn’t bother me because, in my heart, I knew I was right!
In college, I wrote a paper on homosexuality and how wrong it was. “This is against God. It’s immoral…it’s unnatural”, I wrote. Back then, I was the moral authority on what was right or wrong, remember…I knew it all. I had plenty of evidence and sources to support my position. It was a well thought out, well research paper that I was so proud to write. I was so sure that I was right because it was based in the bible. To my surprise, the professor gave a an “F”, a huge F in red ink because she accused me of being a bigot and wrote that my views were vile and hateful. That should have forced to reevaluate my views, but it didn’t. I was enraged! I challenged her and took the paper to a higher chain of command. Eventually, I won because as I said, it was a well written paper and that’s all that was required. She had to grade me solely on merit, regardless of what she thought of my views or what she thought of me as a person. I’m ashamed to say, I retrieved the paper a few weeks ago. I got goosebumps as I read it because I couldn’t believe just how despicable and truly vile those views were. I don’t know what scares me more, the fact that I wrote them or the fact that I was able to find sources to support them.
Bear with me, I’m getting to the point. This is a reflection and sometimes reflection tends to be a bit long. In 2005, around my birthday when I usually reflect and analyze the past is when my views on homosexuality began to shift. It dawned on me that the same reasons given to justify racial and gender discrimination, were the same reasons that I used to justify my bigoted views on homosexuality. They remain the foundation for any discussion on the subject. I repeated some of the same slogans like “God didn’t create Adam and Steve, he created Adam and Eve. You sin against God… You sin against your body”. I was always so quick to remind everyone why God destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah. I really believed that Homosexuality was wrong in the eyes of God, and I just knew I was right…Afterall I knew everything, remember?
I now realized how problematic and hypocritical my views were. Why was it okay for me to discriminate against a whole group of people because they are different, but it was not okay for others who perceived me as different to discriminate against me. The justification was the same in both cases. But then I tried to rationalize it. Well, I had no control over my race or gender I thought to myself as if to imply that gays and lesbians had control over their sexuality or sexual orientation, and they chose to be that way. “I came into this world as a black female” I remember thinking.
Over the years, I wondered how many beautiful, wonderful people I missed out on getting to know, even associated with, or befriended simply because of their sexual orientation or sexual identity. I will never know. Those are lost opportunities that I will never get back. All I know is this…I avoided contacts with gays and lesbians… and at the time, to even call one a friend was simply out of the question. How could I? They were living an immoral life…a life that is against the bible and against God. As Holy and righteous as I was, how can I be associated with that?!
Decades later, after much soul searching, educating myself, and analyzing for myself, often out of the lens of religion, I realize what a fool I was. And I was convinced that I was so smart in my younger days. It is this shift in thinking that has allowed me to make friend with all types of people from all walks of life. Not to sound like a bigot, but some of my best friends are gays, lesbians, and non-binary. This is in no way meant to toot my own horn. In fact, I’m ashamed to even say it. Rather, it is a celebration my “growth” and my journey that has allowed me to share my life with them and I am grateful to them because they allow me to share their lives. They are neighbors, colleagues, associates and yes, my friends. I even have the luxury of calling some of them my sisters, because we are that close! I realize there is no difference between me and them except for who we love. They are exactly like me! We share the same concerns, values, hopes, dreams, and ambitions, and aspirations. We are all intelligent people, and we all strive to live our best life, to be the best person that we can be. So what if I have different sexual orientation! Our differences make this world a more beautiful place.
I’m still an ever-evolving human being. I try to learn and grow every day. Sometimes I take for granted what many people fear. As a heterosexual woman, I have the luxury of walking down the street, and not be attacked simply because my lifestyle offends someone (although I can still be attacked for being black, a woman, short, a short woman, a short black woman, skinny, short skinny black woman, fat, fat short black woman or something else just as stupid…you get the point).
So, for pride month, to members of the LGBTQIA+ community, Gays, Lesbians, Bisexuals, Pansexual, Transgendered, Questioning/Queer, Intersex, Asexual, Non-binary, wonderful people who add so much to make this world a beautiful place to live, we celebrate you. We celebrate your story, we celebrate your history, we celebrate your existence, we celebrate your contributions. The world is a better place because you’re in it!
We Are Women…
On the last day of women history month, Bon Gou leaves you with this poem:
We Are Women…
We are women-We are the heart and soul of our families…of our communities…of our world.
We love, we support, we advise, we comfort, we nurse, we advocate, we educate we....
We are women- we are able and capable
We’re strong yet emotional
We are women-we celebrate every milestone and every victory.
we mourn every loss and wipe away every tear.
We are women- We build and rebuild, we shape and reshape, we define and redefine
We are women-We wear many hats.
We are grandmothers, mothers, sisters, friends, aunts, cousins wives, girlfriend, partners, lovers.
We stand by you. We stand with you.
We’re all around, we protect you.
We are women- We are the original essential workers.
The anchors and the pillars
We are Women- we are proud, we are intelligent, we are powerful, we are determined, we are energetic, we are caring, we are loving, we are kind, we are…
We are women- we are delicate, we are curious, we are mysterious, multifaceted, accomplished, adaptable, complex, simplified, complicated, we are…
Our contributions are vast, our responsibilities are great, our achievements are undeniable
We are women- We do it all.
We are women!
My Super-SHE-roes,
I’ve always been amazed by people who can love other people’s children as their own. While I couldn’t do it myself, that’s the blessing God bestowed on me as a mother of three children, in the Piscataway, New Jersey school district.
It seems like Piscataway somehow found the most wonderful people in the world and hired them all to work in the district. I hear some of the complaints and criticisms about different school districts, other curriculums, and other teachers. To be honest, I have found that most of it is grossly exaggerated, some of it is unfair and still some is flat out untrue. From the time my son entered the school district until now, to be a part of the Piscataway school district has been nothing less than tremendous!
About two years ago, the Coronavirus pandemic turned the world upside down. If you lived on planet earth, you either were directly affected by Covid or indirectly you knew someone who was affected by Covid. Covid touched every aspect of our lives. A mandatory lockdown was put into place. We’ve had to completely change our daily routines, we’ve had to adjust to wearing a mask, and social distancing. Oddly enough, the same things we did to show our loved ones just how much we love them, is exactly what we had to do to protect them from this monster. Covid spread like wildfire. Zoom became the office, the church, the reception hall, etc., etc. And just when it seems like it was getting better…boom…it got worse-so much worse. Covid tested our faith, strength, families, friendships, love and so much more.
Personally, I was touched by covid from the onset of the pandemic, almost two years ago. It was relentless. It was brutal. I was very sick with covid, bed ridden for almost two weeks while my children’s father was hospitalized, also with Covid. Still today, there are three days during those two weeks that I cannot account for; I simply don’t remember those three. To make matters worse, I was one of the long haulers. It took me months, almost an entire year to fully recover. Now, I’m no stranger to pain. I am in constant physical pain almost daily since August 1, 2003. I’ve been in more car accidents than I care to remember, several of them grave accidents that I shouldn’t have survived; I’ve been through childbirth, both natural and c-section. In fact, I’ve cheated death so many times that a friend gave me the nickname Mimi, a kitten because he says I have nine lives. Still, Covid was by far the worst thing I experienced. There’s simply no comparison. Because of the lockdown, I completely depended on my twelve-year-old son to take care of my almost ten-year-old special needs twin daughters. Lucky for me, he came through like a champ! I was pleasantly surprised at the state of my home and my children at the end of the two weeks when I was finally alert enough to notice. In the process, I lost a job, many family members, and close friends, my sense of normalcy, some memories…but I survive. I survived zoom school, I survive the lockdown, I even figured out how to get by financially.
Through it all, I didn’t even realize just how much I depended on my children’s teachers to get through the day. I selfishly ran to them with every problem that arose, from issues with the school issued laptops, to the girls ever evolving issues with insomnia, eating, and …you name it. Not once did it cross my mind that, like me, those teachers were just as affected by covid. For all I knew, some of them might have had it even worse than I did. But none of that mattered at the time. At least, luckily, (and yes, I said luckily) I didn’t have a job anymore to worry about and fit into zoom while I attended zoom school with my girls. All my efforts, energy and focus were put into my recovery, zoom school and my children. There I was emailing them about every little problem, while they had their own circumstances, and their own family situations to figure out. In retrospect, it was not fair for me to add my issues on top of what they already had going on, as I’m sure countless other families did as well. Not once, did they make me feel like I was bothering them. Not once did they make me feel like I was a burden. When one of my girls’ teachers said, “we’re here to support you; we’ll figure it out together”, I knew it was sincere!
I am so grateful to my children’s teachers for their selfless support during a very difficult time. I couldn’t have survived the pandemic without them. I am especially grateful to my twin’s teachers and paraprofessionals. My son has amazing teachers as well, but special education has unique challenges, often on an hourly basis that adds an extra level of complexity. This must really add to the challenges of an already challenging field. My twin’s teachers give themselves and their love selflessly to my girls month after month, week after week, day after day as if my girls were their own. They are my twin’s second mothers. I’m almost embarrassed to admit that sometimes at night, during another battle with insomnia, I found myself counting the hours to put the girls back in the school bus so I can get a break. The best part is, I never ever had to worry about their well-being. I knew that their teachers and will take as good care of them as I would. What a blessing this is!
Now I know for the most part, everyone would agree that there is no fair amount of money to pay teachers for what they do. People always talk about how underpaid teachers are for the noblest profession. I wholeheartedly agree. However, I have a dilemma. I propose that maybe the reason they are so underpaid is because there is no way to put a price on what they do. Really, what metrics would one use to determine that figure? It simply doesn’t exist! If teachers were to make $500,000 a year, they would be grossly underpaid. When you consider all that teacher do, they educate our children, they take care of them, nurse, and nurture them, teach them to respect themselves, and each other, teach them to believe in themselves and to reach for the stars. And that is just the beginning. In addition, they teach our children mathematics, reading, writing, science and help nurture them into productive citizens. Teachers do all that lovingly, selflessly, day in and day out and ask for nothing in return. In many cases, the teachers spend more time with our children than we do. Normally, that’s tough enough; but during the coronavirus pandemic, only God knows how they did it.
In the end, I could never afford to pay them anywhere near what they deserve, that is if I could figure out what that figure would be. Worse, I don’t even know the right word to say to show my gratitude. Unfortunately for them, as my grandmother would often say THANK YOU is all I know, so they just have to settle for that. To my children’s second mothers, I say Thank You, Mesi, Gracias, Merci Beaucoup. As a woman of faith, I can pray God to abundantly bless and protect them. So, for Women’s History Month, International Women’s Day and every day, I salute and Celebrate my Super-SHE-roes.
Food For Thought…
So, it happened again. Another promising, bright light was cut short… by means of suicide. It was devastating news to see first thing Monday morning. Cheslie Kryst, former Miss USA passed away on Sunday January 30, 2022, by means of suicide. She was only 30 years old.
I was numb… completely…The news stopped me right in my track… I couldn’t move, I couldn’t think. My mind and my heart began to race. I just stood there, sweating, staring at the television.
Now, I didn’t know Ms. Kryst personally. In fact, I have never even heard of her until this morning. Yet the news of her passing shook me to my core. I guess it was the matter of death that saddened me. Suicide.
I could never understand why someone would harm himself/herself or take his/her own life. But then again, I don’t really understand mental illness. I’m not even that comfortable talking about it. By no means am I judging. By all accounts she was a beautiful (inside and out), accomplished attorney who shattered many glass ceilings. She was a shining example for little girls everywhere, especially little girls of color. Some of the words used to describe her were intelligent, earnest, full of passion and determination. She had so much to live for…so so much…but alas here we are.
Just last week I was telling a friend to tell his friend and mentor to keep fighting his illness to live because there is a shortage of good people in the world. I guess with the passing of this beautiful young woman, the shortage just got a little bit worse.
To get back to the point, which is the matter of her passing. I want to try to understand how to identify tell-tale signs that someone is either thinking of harming themselves or want to take their own lives.
The passing of this Ms. Kryst took me back to an all too familiar, very dark, and very scary place. About three months ago, I lost a dear, dear friend to suicide. Like Ms. Kryst, my friend was beautiful and accomplished thirty something with so much to live for. Like Ms. Kryst, my friend was intelligent, articulate, caring, and poise. And like Ms. Kryst, my friend had both the potential and ability to change the world.
Listening to people described Ms. Kryst, I thought I was at my friend’s funeral all over again. The way people described Ms. Kryst sounded a lot like the way people described my friend. In fact, if I didn’t hear Ms. Kryst’s name or see her picture on the television screen, I would think for sure that somehow the media got wind of my friends passing and was covering it in the CBS Morning news. It was all too familiar. It was all too eerie. I’ve been through an emotional roller coaster the last three months trying to cope with it.
I felt robbed. I felt cheated. I felt like something so valuable to me was snatched, stolen from me and there is nothing I can do about it. It was so unexpected. I was so unprepared. I felt so broken. I felt shattered. I was so sad, devastated, lost, empty and angry. I was angry at this thief that snatched my friend away when I least expected. I was angry at the thief name suicide. One minute I was crying hysterically… uncontrollably. The next minute I was giggling, laughing, feeling happy and blessed to have known that person; and to have had that person in my life. “How lucky was I”, I remember thinking.
I guess the best way I can explain it is to compare it to the time I was robbed in broad daylight. I was walking down the center of the city shopping when out of nowhere, someone ran full speed from behind, snatched my handbag and kept running. I stood there in shock; I couldn’t even react because I didn’t see it coming. I didn’t have time to react. Now I’m not comparing my friend to a handbag…I can replace a handbag, but I could never replace such a treasured friend. However, the feelings were eerily similar. The feeling of shock, blindsided, helplessness, robbed and missed opportunity and… oh yeah anger.
I spoke to my friend just a few days before. My dear friend was happy, bubbly, hopeful. We were looking forward to the future, once covid was in the rearview mirror. We were making plans to see each other. I even warn my friend to be prudent and take necessary precautions. Pay attention to your surroundings, wear your mask, don’t go out alone at night were the instructions I gave my friend as I usually do. How did I not see that something was wrong? I was completely blindsided. My last memory of my dear friend is a bright beautiful smile…I can hear the giggles... I can even hear the changed in the tone, a serious, stern tone warning me not to stay away so long. Whenever the tone changed, that was an indication that I needed to take what was being said seriously, so I paid attention. I could even hear the kitten-like “purring,” in my friend’s voice when I said I love you at the end of the conversation. “Awwwww, I love you too” I heard back. And the next news I got was the devastating news that my beloved friend committed suicide.
I’m baffled! I’m perplexed! I’m in shock! I’m angry! I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut! There is no shortage of words to describe how I felt and continue to feel three months later. More Importantly, I’m scared! I’m scared that it could happen again. It’s been three month and I still have not been able to identify those tell-tale signs. Could it be that there were no signs? How can there not be any signs? Was I just too oblivious? While I’m very uncomfortable talking about depression and mental illness, I thought I knew all the signs. In this case, I missed them…completely. I keep playing our last conversation in my mind, I go back and look at pictures of the last few months, I listen to old voicemails, I read old text messages. There was no indication that something was wrong, and I needed to intervene. The first sign was the suicide.
So, I can relate to Gayle King from CBS this morning when she asked “how do you know to offer someone help if you don’t know they need it”.
I’m trying to learn from this tragic experience… just in case. I hope I never need this information, but you never know. I want to be prepared. For me, when looking back, the hardest thing is all the ...I should have, I could have…I would have but didn’t. Please take good care of your entire selves
Crafted With Love
Bon Gou Lifestyle
Strategically located in the heart of the food innovation center, in Piscataway, New Jersey, Bon Gou is an online bakery that sells Pen Patat, cheesecakes and a variety of baked goods. Bon Gou is a small, minority-owned business that takes pride in providing delicious, fresh baked goods to my customers. I specialize in Pen Patat, (pen-bread; patat-sweet potato), a variation of sweet potato pie. My pen patat (pie) is different from any of the other sweet potato pie that you’ve tasted. I use batata, a purple…ish sweet potato with a white inside (similar in color to Korean yam) and rapadou, an unrefined brown sugar. That makes my pen patat not only different in texture but also in taste. I am passionate about using only the finest ingredients to produce the most delicious, affordable products. My pledge to you, my customer is this, if it’s not good enough to feed my children, then it’s not good enough to serve you!
I believe that food is meant to be enjoyed, and I strive to create a product that people can come together, celebrate, and enjoy. I invite you to visit our website or place an order today. I promise you won’t be disappointed!
