Chapter 01: What Are We?
- Who This Book Is For
- The Box
- NFL Roster
- The Half-Story
- The DNA Pitch
- The Definition Nobody Reads
- This Book
Who This Book Is For
Your family story has gaps — by design. If you’re older, maybe you grew up knowing the food, the music, some of the language — but many of us just got “you’re Cape Verdean” without context, or were told you’re Black, Portuguese, or “mixed.” Some are lucky to have even that much after generations of systematic relabeling. Your grandmother’s features don’t match the narrative you inherited, DNA results mention Cape Verde but no one explained what that means, and families in Westchester County, New Bedford, or Providence have been there so long the original story got buried.1
This book documents that design. Cape Verde was never the beginning — it was a processing center where different stories were systematically erased and simplified into controllable labels. The people processed through those islands came from across continents — indigenous Americans captured from coastal communities, West Africans taken by Portuguese traders, Sephardic Jews fleeing persecution. Your father wasn’t wrong when he told you where you come from, but Cape Verdean is an incomplete answer that was deliberately crafted to hide a deeper question: What came before the islands?
The Box
The U.S. Census didn’t have a box for Cape Verdean. It still doesn’t. So your family checked something. Black. White. Portuguese. Other. Depending on the decade, depending on the town, depending on who was asking. Each generation picked the box that caused the least trouble.1
The box wasn’t identity. It was survival.
Kurimeo Ahau, A System of Colors // DO YOUR GENEALOGY TO KNOW WHO YOU ARE. ↩ ↩ ↩ ↩ ↩ ↩
NFL Roster
You’re up at 2 AM watching a man on YouTube turn the pages of a colonial-era ledger. Name after name after name. It looks like an NFL roster — page after page of people who clearly weren’t what the record says they were. Then you see a name you recognize. Your mother’s last name, staring back from a document written centuries ago.1
The record doesn’t say Cape Verdean. It doesn’t say African. It says Indian.
The Half-Story
Your dad wasn’t wrong. Cape Verde is real. The culture is real. The islands are real. But Cape Verde was a processing center — a place where people were taken to, not where they were originally from. He gave you the hub. Nobody gave him the spokes.1
The question isn’t whether you’re Cape Verdean. The question is what Cape Verdean actually means.
Kurimeo Ahau, Pt. 18 — Nations of The World // Cape Verdeans / American Indians / Sephardic / Portuguese / Whalers. ↩ ↩ ↩ ↩ ↩ ↩
The DNA Pitch
They’ll sell you the answer for $59.99. Spit in a tube and know your tribe. The test comes back with percentages — 23% this, 14% that — a pie chart of identity. Clean. Clinical. Wrong in every way that matters.1
DNA tells you what populations your markers correlate with. It doesn’t tell you what happened. It doesn’t tell you who was taken, who was relabeled, or why the records say one thing and the blood says another.
Kurimeo Ahau, SPIT HERE AND KNOW YOUR TRIBE FOR $59.99. ↩ ↩ ↩ ↩ ↩ ↩
The Definition Nobody Reads
Gina E. Sanchez defines Cape Verdean Americans as “persons of Portuguese descent and American Indian descent.” Not African descent. Portuguese and American Indian.1
Seventy percent of the Mashantucket Pequot tribal nation is Cape Verdean mixed with Native American heritage.2 These families didn’t discover foreign ancestry. They uncovered what was taken from them.
This Book
This book follows the trail backward. From the identity your family gave you, through the islands, through the processing center, through the wars and the laws and the relabeling — all the way to the people who were taken.
It’s written to the person you were before you found that video at 2 AM. The person your dad was. The person who checked a box and kept moving.
Read it in order. The answer is at the end, but only if you walk the whole road.