As I delve deeper into my journey with the Taíno Canoe Project, I feel an undeniable connection to my ancestors and the rich heritage they left behind. Growing up, I often wondered about the stories that floated like whispers on the ocean breeze, tales of journeys across waters that my people once navigated with ease and grace. It wasn’t until I found inspiration in that hidden cave, with its roots tracing the route of flowing water, that I truly began to grasp the significance of our canoe culture.
Standing in that cave, I felt a moment of clarity wash over me, as if the essence of the water itself was guiding me. The gentle curves of the roots reminded me of the elegant forms of traditional canoes, and at that instant, I envisioned a revival of canoe culture—one that would not only celebrate our past but also reclaim a vibrant expression of our identity. Stepping out from the shadows, I knew that I had a purpose. I was determined to journey with others, to reconnect with our shared history of open sea travel, and to ensure that the canoe culture of Borikén thrives for future generations.
Learning to build canoes under the guidance of seasoned craftspeople has been both challenging and rewarding. As they advise, starting with small-scale models is crucial. It’s a step that teaches not only the basic shapes and lines but also the essential skills of tool control and wood selection. Each time I carve out a new piece, doubling the size of the model, I feel more confident in my abilities. There’s a tangible connection between the process of crafting and understanding the dynamics of paddling and stability in water, a bond that reflects the relationship we have with the sea.
The Taíno ancestors were masters of dugout canoes, crafting at least four distinct types that served different purposes. I often think of the Kanowa, the ocean-going canoe that once carried our people between islands. It’s disheartening to acknowledge that these beautiful vessels have seldom been made since the mid-19th century, as knowledge of their construction faded away. But with the Taíno Canoe Project, we are reigniting that flame. Documenting the canoe-building process is just one part of our mission; it will help establish a canoe house dedicated to studying Indigenous Caribbean canoe traditions and supporting future preparations.
As we prepare for the historic canoe journey to Mona Island, my heart swells with excitement. It’s a journey that marks the first of its kind in hundreds of years for Indigenous people from the Greater Antilles. Crossing the waters that separate us from Hispaniola and Cuba feels both daunting and exhilarating. I can already envision the gathering of hundreds, all there to welcome us, to celebrate our connection to the sea and to our heritage.
This journey isn’t just about the canoes; it’s about advocating for Indigenous peoples, raising awareness about our environment, and revitalizing our ancestral dugout canoe culture. I am proud to take part in an activity that honors our past, embraces our present, and paves the way for our future. As I carve each new canoe, I know I’m not just shaping wood—I’m shaping a legacy that will honor the resilience and spirit of my Taíno ancestors for generations to come. – Bert Correa
Taíno Canoe Project 