My grandfather was born in Trinidad on Christmas Day in 1941. When he moved to the States at age 25, he carried with him Scotch bonnet peppers, a college degree, determination, and dreams. He met my grandmother, Cassie, in 1977 and settled first in Long Island, New York, then Yorktown, Virginia. Time flew, he grew, became a father, then a grandfather 10 times over, and then a great-grandfather. He didn’t make it back to Trinidad often, but he carried his home in his West Indian accent and in the flavors of his cooking—an inheritance of hot pepper sauce and goat roti. I grew up with those Trini flavors, which are now part of the story of the African diaspora I tell at my restaurant, Kith/Kin, in Washington, D.C. Since he retired, Papa has been back to Trinidad a few times, mostly for funerals, as his siblings have been whittled down from a dozen to now just eight. I had never gone with him to visit. Until now.