It’s a funny story... My parents are both from the same little island in the western Caribbean. Roatan is a tiny island, one that’s only about 23 miles long and 7 miles wide. What are the chances that in 1978, they both make their way to New Orleans and meet for the first time? This is where our family’s history begins. My sister and I grew up in a unique cross culture, caught somewhere between Bob Marley and Kermit Ruffins. We spent summers in paradise practicing our Spanish, and the fall cheering for the Saints and patiently awaiting Mardi Gras. My mom cooked fresh coconut bread and seafood gumbo. I still use a variety of these seasonings when I cook, remembering where I was born and my family's heritage. My parents’ island accent is often mistaken for a Cajun one, they usually respond with, “nope, I’m from a little further south, about 600 miles more!” My sister and I are first generation New Orleanians. My parents’ homeland of Roatan, Honduras is always in our heart, but the city of New Orleans runs through our veins!

– Gina B.

Relationship:  Child of im/migrant Child of im/migrant