Miami is a chimera, a city stitched together from various cultures, and reinvention in its bones. Some call it a melting pot, but that’s outdated, lazy. Miami doesn’t blend cultures; it stacks them, layering, colliding, reshaping itself with every wave. Neon-lit South Beach. Little Havana, a city within a city, where Cuban culture rules the streets. Ocean Drive, a living Art Deco museum. Overtown, once the Harlem of the South, gutted by highways but never erased.
Before the neon, before the skyline, before Miami was Miami, there was Coconut Grove. Before the developers cashed in, before brunch crowds and northern snowbirds strolled in like they owned it, Bahamians built it.
The Bahamian Guardians of the Grove built more than homes. They built a foundation. A future. A claim. They arrived in Miami with tools, skill, and the will to carve something of their own. They cleared the land, hammered the nails, and raised the first houses in what would become the oldest neighborhood in present-day Miami. But they weren’t just builders. They were architects of a new world.
Before the city had maps, they laid roads. Before Miami had a future, they built one—crafting homes that stood for generations, carving out a place where their families could grow.
Long before a skyline ever rose, before the city had a name worth remembering, before Miami was even a thought, they made this place home.
Coconut Grove’s story isn’t in the tourist brochures.
Now? Yoga studios. Waterfront mansions. Weekend farmers’ markets. High-end boutiques line the streets where Bahamian craftsmen once sold handmade goods. The same ground they cleared now holds rooftop bars and valet stations.
The shift wasn’t loud. No outcry. No resistance. Just slow erasure, so seamless no one thought to stop it. No headlines. No reckonings. Just a neighborhood slipping away, block by block.
But dig beneath the boutiques, beneath the glossy veneer, and another story rises.
Bahamian immigrants didn’t just settle here. They built a self-sustaining community. They weren’t just workers—they were business owners, landowners, craftsmen, and visionaries. They built businesses: tailor shops, bakeries, fish markets. They filled the air with the rhythms of Junkanoo, with church bells that called the faithful to worship.
They built it. They lived it. They fought for it.
Now? Their legacy fades, buried beneath a city that forgets who laid the first bricks.
The Grove has changed.
The high-rises came. The old homes gone. Yes, some were bulldozed for “progress,” others left to rot until developers collected enough to build something obsequious, vulgar and massive. The streets repaved. The storefronts renamed. The past paved over, brick by brick.
But listen closely. Stand on Grand Avenue, where elders once told stories of the islands. Their voices still linger—if you know where to look. Sure there are the obvious museums and my favorite plaques. In life, I always take the time to read a plaque if someone bothered to chisel something into bronze, stone or copper it demands at the very least a cursory look.
But beyond the cold sterile museums, that coldly and academically lay out the past, there is still Junkanoo. It still pulses through the streets, faint but insistent, a heartbeat that refuses to be silenced. The scent of conch fritters still drifts through the air, a whisper from the past. What remains is just a sprinkling of what once was—but it’s still there.
The Bahamian roots of Coconut Grove haven’t disappeared. You just have to know where to look.
Some places refuse to vanish, relics of another time standing defiantly against relentless change.
Wooden houses, bright with Caribbean colors, holding their ground against a rising tide of steel and glass. Churches where voices still rise in hymns, carrying the songs of generations past. A handful of homes, still held by the descendants of those first settlers, now swallowed by towering condos.
What once was there has not disappeared completely. There are still men and women who remember what this place once was. You will find in them the story of what was—resilience, and a quiet warning.
History doesn’t just fade, it gets rewritten. Communities that once stood tall are now just plaques, their stories pressed into metal, their legacies reduced to a footnote. But Coconut Grove isn’t a footnote, it’s a testament. A reminder that Miami wasn’t just built, it was fought for, piece by piece, brick by brick. The skyline changed, time buried so much beneath concrete and commerce, but the soul of the Grove remains. You just have to know where to look.
Bahamian Settlers: The Founders of Coconut Grove & Miami’s Black Community
Long before Miami was a city, before developers stamped their names on its streets like Flagler, Brickell, and Tuttle, the land was wild. The Seminole and Miccosukee lived here long before settlers arrived, adapting, resisting, surviving. As wars, forced removals, and expansion pushed them deeper into the Everglades, the land was reclaimed by the never-ending force of will that is nature when humans don’t interfere. Then the Bahamians came.
They weren’t just looking for work. They were staking a claim, carving out land few dared to settle. Miami wasn’t a city yet, just an idea waiting to take shape. The Bahamians gave it form.
Why Miami? It was close, just a 50-mile trip from the Bahamas. But it was more than that. The islands were struggling. The abolition of slavery had left the economy in ruins, and jobs were scarce. Leaving wasn’t just a choice; it was survival. Miami, on the other hand, was rising fast, its land sold cheap to those who knew how to shape it.
Florida didn’t resist her island cousins, the Bahamians. They came, and they made it their own. The first Bahamian immigrants settled in Coconut Grove, building one of Miami’s first Black communities. They didn’t just build homes. They built something meant to last. Skilled craftsmen, masons, and carpenters, they shaped Miami’s earliest structures with their hands. But they didn’t just construct buildings. They cultivated the land.
The rocky soil and subtropical heat weren’t obstacles. They were familiar. The Bahamians knew how to work with them. They planted pineapples, one of South Florida’s first major cash crops, thriving in the well-drained coral rock. They grew coconuts, harvested for trade and local use. They planted citrus groves: limes, oranges, and grapefruit—crops that would later define Florida’s agricultural industry. They introduced mangoes, bananas, and papayas, tropical fruits that became part of Miami’s food culture. They dug into the earth to cultivate cassava, yams, and pigeon peas, staples of Bahamian cooking that sustained both their families and local markets.
What they planted didn’t just feed them. It built an economy. Their crops made Coconut Grove a thriving agricultural hub long before Miami became a metropolis. But their impact didn’t end in the fields. Their hands shaped more than the land. They shaped the city itself.
How Bahamians Built Coconut Grove: Their Lasting Impact on Miami’s Growth
Coconut Grove didn’t just appear. It was built. And at the heart of that construction were Bahamian hands.
They worked the docks, cleared the land, and laid the foundations of Miami’s first Black community. They didn’t just build the Grove. They made it last. The homes they built weren’t just shelters—they became generational wealth. The businesses they started weren’t side hustles—they anchored the community.
But their influence didn’t stop at construction. They weren’t just laying bricks. They were laying the groundwork for something that couldn’t be bought, stolen, or controlled. They planted crops, raised churches, and built businesses that kept their wealth where it belonged, in their own hands. More families moved in, businesses expanded, and the Black Grove wasn’t just surviving. It was thriving, shaping Miami’s economy before the city even knew what it was becoming.
Fishermen sold their fresh catch straight from the docks. Barbershops doubled as gathering spots, where men debated politics between haircuts. Women wove palm frond baskets, their hands fast, their work passed down like family names. Churches rang with hymns on Sundays, while the sounds of Junkanoo spilled into the streets at night. They weren’t waiting for opportunity. They built it.
Some of their work, though, refuses to be erased. The Mariah Brown House, built in 1890 by one of Coconut Grove’s first Bahamian homeowners, still stands on Charles Avenue, a reminder of those who made a life here. Stirrup Properties, founded by Ebenezer Woodbury Franklin Stirrup, one of Miami’s first Black developers, continues to own and manage homes built by Bahamian hands.
Bahamian businesses still stand today, surviving in a city that treats history like an inconvenience. Developers erase what they can, renaming, repackaging, and rewriting until all that’s left is a plaque no one reads. But not everything was erased. Some fought to stay. Some still fight. The Grove didn’t just survive—it kept growing.
They didn’t just build homes and businesses. They built a culture. And the proof is still standing, waiting for those who bother to see it.
Bahamian Culture in Miami: Music, Food & Traditions That Still Thrive
A neighborhood isn’t just buildings. It’s the pulse in the music, the seasoning in the food, the history in every street. Coconut Grove wasn’t just another Miami district—it was a Bahamian stronghold, and if you know where to listen, it still is.
Junkanoo: The Heartbeat of the Grove
Junkanoo isn’t background noise. It’s the rhythm of survival. Drums pounding, feet moving, colors flashing—all of it rooted in a tradition stretching back centuries, long before Miami had a name. It’s the sound of freedom, defiance, and celebration, and once a year, at the Miami/Bahamas Goombay Festival, the past explodes into the present. The streets flood with music, costumes, and the unmistakable energy of a people who refuse to be forgotten.
The Goombay Festival isn’t nostalgia—it’s resistance. Held every summer, it takes over Grand Avenue, where the Grove’s Bahamian community first put down roots. The parade moves like a storm, packed with dancers, musicians, and revelers keeping tradition alive. Stalls line the streets, selling everything from Bahamian food to handcrafted art, proof that this culture isn’t just history—it’s here, still breathing, still moving.
The Reality of Junkanoo in Miami
Junkanoo in Miami isn’t what it once was. It’s not a daily rhythm in the streets or a constant presence in Coconut Grove. It’s not blasting through the neighborhoods like it did when the Bahamian community built this place from the ground up.
But it’s not dead either.
Once a year, at the Miami/Bahamas Goombay Festival, Junkanoo comes back to life. The drums, the costumes, the movement—it all floods Grand Avenue for a weekend, refusing to be erased. It’s a reminder, a resurgence, a defiant pulse that says the Bahamian influence on this city isn’t just history.
The most recent Goombay Festival ran from May 31 to June 2, 2024, bringing in Junkanoo troupes, live performances, and Bahamian vendors. The festival isn’t a daily part of life in the Grove anymore, but it’s proof that the culture isn’t gone—it’s still fighting for space.
Junkanoo in Miami isn’t thriving. But it’s still standing. And that alone says something.
The Food: The Flavor of Resistance
Bahamian food didn’t “inspire” Miami’s cuisine. It built it. Long before trendy restaurants started slapping “Caribbean fusion” on overpriced menus, conch fritters, fish stew, Johnnycakes, and pigeon peas and rice were being served up by Bahamians who made Coconut Grove their home. This wasn’t just comfort food. It was a direct link to the islands—a way to hold onto history while carving out a future.
Even now, Bahamian food refuses to disappear. Local spots like Conch Town and Conch Heaven still serve up these dishes, carrying forward flavors that Miami wouldn’t be the same without. Some of these restaurants have been family-owned for generations, holding their ground in a city that’s always trying to bury its past under the next luxury development.
A Culture That Won’t Be Erased
Coconut Grove’s Bahamian roots aren’t museum relics. They’re alive, and every year, Goombay proves it.
The city moves fast, eager to repackage history into something that fits the real estate brochures. But some things won’t be repackaged. Some things refuse to die.
Junkanoo was never an everyday presence, but it thrived in festivals, backyards, and the rhythms of the Grove. If you listen close, it’s still there.
The food still holds its own. And Coconut Grove’s Bahamian roots? They haven’t vanished. Less than what was there 20 years ago, but defiantly so.
Gentrification in Coconut Grove: How It’s Changing Little Bahamas
Coconut Grove isn’t what it was. Not even close.
Walk Grand Avenue today and you’ll see it: glass towers, feeding the need to build higher, sell faster, monuments to a city that never stops wanting more. The Bahamians who built this neighborhood? Most have been pushed out, their homes sold, their history repackaged, their presence reduced to a footnote or a plaque, with the occasional street name change to mark what once was.
The Black Grove wasn’t just a neighborhood—it was a foundation for Miami’s earliest communities, its businesses, and its culture. A self-sustaining Bahamian stronghold where businesses thrived, families built generational wealth, and culture set the rhythm of the streets. But roots don’t stop progress. Growth always comes with a price.
The same homes great-granddad built? Bought, gutted, flipped for millions. The same streets where Junkanoo once roared? Now lined with boutique hotels and high-end cafés where the only thing Bahamian on the menu is a cocktail with a name someone pulled off a Google search.
The truth is, the Grove didn’t stand still. No place ever does. Cities evolve. Skylines rise. The past makes way for the present. But erasing it is not progress. A community’s identity isn’t something you scrape away like old paint.
The Bahamians who stayed have done more than just hold on—they’ve fought to keep something real in a neighborhood that’s shifting beneath them. Judith’s Market still sells Bahamian goods, the same way it always has. Beau’s Café on Wheels still serves up conch, fish stew, and flavors that trace back to the islands. These aren’t relics. They’re roots still in the ground, holding firm.
The Grove will not be erased without a fight. The battle isn’t new. Neither are the tactics, whether to push people out or fight to keep what remains. Gentrification in Coconut Grove was gradual, largely driven by rising property values rather than outright displacement, but there was resistance. Lawsuits, protests, and legal battles to protect historic Black communities date back to the 1980s. Community leaders push for historical protections, affordable housing, and cultural preservation projects. All tried and true methods—when and if the money is there to back them. Organizations like Grove Rights and Community Equity Inc. (GRACE) advocate for equitable development and the preservation of Little Bahamas’ people and culture. The Coconut Grove Ministerial Alliance and the Coconut Grove Village West Homeowners and Tenants Association have filed complaints against zoning policies that displace Black residents. Even academic institutions like Florida International University (FIU) are stepping in, with projects documenting the Goombay Festival to preserve the rich Bahamian heritage.
Change moves fast. Money moves faster. And history? It gets rewritten in real-time.
That’s the fight. Because history doesn’t disappear on its own. It gets buried, resold, and renamed. If no one fights for it, it won’t be history anymore. It’ll just be a story someone else tells, the way they want it told.
Where to Experience Bahamian Culture in Coconut Grove Today
Coconut Grove isn’t lost. It’s still here, evolving and changing as it should. What remains is worth your time.
The past wants nothing. We fixate on what was, longing for a version of history that no longer exists. That trap sacrifices what is present here and now.
It’s still woven into the streets, baked into the storefronts, and simmering in kitchens that refuse to close. You don’t need a plaque to tell you where history lives. You just have to look.
Walk Grand Avenue, where Little Bahamas holds its ground. The Mariah Brown House, built in 1890, stands as quiet defiance against time, a reminder of the first Bahamian families who carved out a life here. Ebenezer Stirrup’s house, built in 1897, still stands, a symbol of a Black developer who built not just homes but generational wealth. Christ Episcopal Church, founded in 1901, still opens its doors—to those who remember and those who want to learn.
But history isn’t just in wooden houses and old church pews. It’s in the crackle of conch fritters hitting hot oil at Beau’s Café on Wheels, where a lifelong Grove resident serves up flavors passed down for generations. It’s in Judith’s Market, where Bahamian spices, crafts, and traditions thrive despite the odds.
And once a year, the streets roar back to life. The Goombay Festival floods Grand Avenue with the sound of Junkanoo, the smell of Bahamian food, and a celebration of what refuses to be erased. It’s smaller now, held just once a year instead of stretching over an entire weekend, but it’s a heartbeat—one that still pulses through the neighborhood.
This isn’t about taking a walk. It’s about taking notice.
The history of Coconut Grove isn’t hiding—it’s being ignored. It’s in the cracks of Grand Avenue, in the voices of business owners still fighting to hold their ground. It’s in the smell of fried conch, the sound of a Junkanoo drumline that won’t be silenced.
But will you see it?
Or will you walk past, distracted by the latest high-rise, another glossy façade built over someone else’s foundation?
Because history doesn’t just disappear on its own. It’s ignored. It’s forgotten. Until one day, it’s gone.
What’s here now is real. The only question is whether you’ll see it—or let it fade like so many already have.
Coconut Grove’s Bahamian Legacy: A History Worth Fighting For
Coconut Grove isn’t just another Miami neighborhood. It’s a testament to the people who built this city, the hands that cleared the land, laid the bricks, and shaped its identity. The Bahamian influence isn’t just history. It’s alive, if you know where to look.
History doesn’t just fade. It gets stolen, rewritten, paved over, and repackaged until no one remembers who built what, or why it mattered. Think of a coral rock battered by waves. Time wears it down, smooths its edges, until it’s lost. Until it’s sand once more. Coral sand is white and precious. It is something new. Coconut Grove isn’t gone, but it is disappearing, one multimillion-dollar listing at a time.
Forgetting isn’t passive. It’s a choice.
So, what will you do? Will you look away, pretend you didn’t see it, and move on? Or will you stop, see what remains, and know exactly what it means?
Because once history is erased, there’s no bringing it back.
Coconut Grove’s Bahamian Heritage: Supporting Sources and References
1. Bahamian Foundations of Coconut Grove
Claim: “Before Miami was Miami, there was Coconut Grove. Bahamians built it.”
- Supporting Source: Bahamian immigrants were among the first settlers in Coconut Grove, establishing one of Miami’s earliest Black communities.
- Coconut Grove: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coconut_Grove
2. Mariah Brown House
Claim: “The Mariah Brown House, built in 1890 by one of Coconut Grove’s first Bahamian homeowners, still stands on Charles Avenue.”
- Supporting Source: The Mariah Brown House, constructed in 1890, is one of the oldest homes in Coconut Grove’s Little Bahamas.
- The Mariah Brown House: https://goo.gl/maps/3YQ9Q1J1J2K2
3. Ebenezer Woodbury Franklin Stirrup
Claim: “Ebenezer Woodbury Franklin Stirrup, one of Miami’s first Black developers, continues to own and manage homes built by Bahamian hands.”
- Supporting Source: Ebenezer Stirrup was a significant Black developer in Coconut Grove, contributing to the community’s growth.
- Ebenezer Woodbury Franklin Stirrup: https://goo.gl/maps/4ZQ9R2S2T3L3
- Gentrification and Displacement
Claim: “The high-rises came. The old homes gone… The past paved over, brick by brick.”
- Supporting Source: Coconut Grove’s historically Black section is experiencing significant gentrification, leading to displacement and redevelopment.
- Gentrification: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gentrification_of_Miami
5. Goombay Festival
Claim: “Once a year, at the Miami/Bahamas Goombay Festival, the past explodes into the present.”
- Supporting Source: The Goombay Festival celebrates Bahamian culture in Coconut Grove, featuring music, food, and traditions.
- City of Miami Events: https://www.miami.gov/Notices/Events-Activities/MiamiBahamas-Goombay-Festival?utm_source=chatgpt.com
6. Christ Episcopal Church
Claim: “Christ Episcopal Church, founded in 1901, still opens its doors—to those who remember and those who want to learn.”
- Supporting Source: Christ Episcopal Church, established in 1901, remains a cornerstone of the community.
- Google Maps: https://goo.gl/maps/6YQ9T5U6V7N5
- Gentrification Efforts and Community Response
Claim: “Gentrification in Coconut Grove was gradual, largely driven by rising property values rather than outright displacement, but there was resistance.”
- Supporting Source: By 1983, gentrification had become a serious issue, and efforts were made to preserve Coconut Grove for its residents.
- Further Reading: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Avenue
8. Cultural Preservation Initiatives
Claim: “Organizations like Grove Rights and Community Equity Inc. (GRACE) advocate for equitable development and the preservation of Little Bahamas’ people and culture.”
- Supporting Source: Community leaders and organizations have been actively working to protect the cultural heritage of Coconut Grove amidst development pressures.
- Further Reading: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bahamian_Americans
9. Official Recognition of Little Bahamas
Claim: “Miami designates part of Coconut Grove as ‘Little Bahamas‘ to honor its Bahamian roots.”
- Supporting Source: The City of Miami officially designated a portion of Coconut Grove as ‘Little Bahamas’ to recognize and preserve the cultural heritage of Bahamian immigrants.
- https://wilson.house.gov/news/documentsingle.aspx?DocumentID=1092&utm_source=chatgpt.com
- Google Maps: https://goo.gl/maps/7ZQ9U8V9W8N6
- Further Reading: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Conch_house, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charlotte_Jane_Memorial_Park_Cemetery
