My name is Luis Ramos, a.k.a., Lukibuel. I am a Taino Boricua residing in New York City. I am happily married to Esdras Maroya Santana, a Kiskeyana Taino.  We are blessed with two children named Deminan and Anani. As a family we are proud of our Taino heritage.

Generally, there are people who question Taino ethnicity. It is a reality that confronts many Tainos in the Caribbean and U.S. Diaspora. Why do I identify with Taino ethnicity in the midst of negative criticism or ridicule? Many people in the Latino or Academic communities believe that I am not proud of being Puerto Rican or that I want to reject my Spanish heritage. Then there are those in the Native American or mainstream society that think that I want to be Indian or what I call the "dances with wolves syndrome." I have learned to laugh at these inquisitions and stand proud of who I am.  Why do I identify as a Taino?
 
In the late sixties, turbulence and revolution were the cries heard throughout New York City and other parts of the country. It was a call to liberate oneself from an oppressive government that propagated war, racism, and an outdated status quo. It was truly a time of change. Ten years before the riots and protests, my humble Aunt decided to take the first commercial flight from San Juan, Puerto Rico to New York City. After marrying her childhood love, they decided to learn from a Jewish couple in Brooklyn the art of owning and managing a grocery store. Their success made it possible for other family members to explore New York City. The majority of my family were poor jibaro families who were very religious. Their religion was one not rooted in the weekly ritual of Roman Catholicism, but from the power of popular religiosity that syncretized Taino, African, and Spanish religious practices.

My parents were succumbed to the negativity of the 1960's and left behind a screaming child. It was during this time period that my great-grandparents arrived to Brooklyn, N.Y with the traditions I now desperately protect, and dare teach my children. My great-grandmother knew how to calm a colic baby. My new elderly parents came from another world that appeared superstitious and magical to the Americans, namely, our Landlord/Super, who was a Polish-Catholic holocaust survivor. He often called her a witch!  I remembered the tabacco smoke that filled the air after a healing ceremony or when my great-grandfather would make cigars for money. I remember my great-grandmother shouting at me if I interrupted her during a ceremony. Tabacco and plants dipped in water was all I could remember. I could still smell the aromas. Also, I cannot forget the botanica owner with the small cigar in his mouth that constantly argued with my great-grandmother on weekends over the price of the plants she used for her ceremonies.