Grandma Babe: "We are Black and Black. Just Know that!" or a meditation on what it means to Belong through Time and Space
So this title begins with a memory of a query I had with my Grandma Babe about ethnicity, nationality and belonging back in elementary school. Grandma what are we? Where are we from? How come we don't have another special flag?
We are Black.
Phew, I could write a dissertation on the different affects of that one phrase, but do know the more I survive and live in my joy and grief, it brings me JOY to reckon with the idea of being Black.
It is Libra season, a time when the energies of balance and harmony resonate deeply within our lives, reminding us of the ever-present dance of the scales. Is it a Harlem shake? A chicken head? Or perhaps some other deep-rooted pre-colonial African ancestral expression. I don't know... As we find ourselves on this journey through October, today, the 15th, holds a special significance as it marks the birthday of the legendary Fela Kuti. Did I know that before three hours ago? No. Had he been with us, he would have celebrated his 87th year. Fela remains a figure of immense complexity and controversy, a true son of Africa whose influence continues to ripple through the fabric of music and social justice. As I reflect on this day, I recognize the profound connection I share with him as a fellow Libra, navigating the intricate pathways of life as a diasporic child seeking to forge a sense of home in the material world. I also know that, as a Black transnationalist feminist and all the other qualifiers added to that, I have a duty to critique and hold this complicated figure in different lights and dimensions. ESPECIALLY on Purple Thursday during Domestic Violence Awareness Month. I will make a post about this separately.
Today is also the day, Thomas Sankara was assassinated. Two figures sharing space on this day, in the continuum of time and space where one entered this world and one exited. Both sons of Africa. Thomas Isidore Noël Sankara was a Burkinabé military officer, politician, Marxist, and pan-Africanist revolutionary who served as the first president of Burkina Faso.
In this moment of introspection, I find myself grappling with various thoughts and emotions, often feeling the push and pull of life’s demands. I am stressed no doubt and writing is always a bit cathartic. It is as if I am compelled to sit with these feelings, to explore the depths of my consciousness. My Grandma Babe’s voice resonates in my mind, a real Black grandmama way of telling you from the Ancestral plane to JUST SIT DOWN. Despite the fatigue that comes after a long day at work, where the desire to retreat to the comforts of home is overwhelming, I recognize an urgent need to articulate this stream of consciousness that flows through me.
The language we often rely on seems inadequate to fully express the intensity of the compulsion I feel from the Ancestors, who sometimes beckon me to listen more closely to their wisdom. Seriously, I sometimes feel a tug of the dress, a snap of fabric as I am going through the door, or even a sudden clumsiness where nothing stays in my hands I try to move on to the next thing to do in my day. This calling has led me to reach out, both to connect with others and to delve deeper within myself. Today, I reconnected with an old co-worker and a dear childhood friend, both of whom share my rediscovered Igbo heritage. I also created a group chat that includes two of my cousins sharing this information.
A topic that occupies a significant space in my mental and spiritual landscape: the memory of our ancestors. Now, you might wonder, what does all of this have to do with Fela Kuti? The connection may not be immediately apparent, yet it feels deeply intertwined with my current state of mind. Today, I felt an inexplicable urge to play his music, a spontaneous decision that seemed to arise from somewhere beyond my conscious thought. Little did I know at that moment that it was, in fact, his birthday, a cosmic alignment that felt almost serendipitous. Fela's music is very good and has its place, no doubt, in entertainment and musical genius; it is a powerful vessel of history, culture, and resistance. It speaks to the struggles and triumphs of our people, echoing the sentiments of those who have come before us.
This is what I mean when I speak of embodied wisdoms. In 2009, I traveled to Nigeria with my childhood friend/sister, Agbogo, and when I shared these findings with her today, she pointed out that the tree looks like the one we climbed the day we were kidnapped and caught in a bit of a complicated, traumatic, and transformative experience. I am not sure if now is the time and place I would like that particular story to unfold but I am quite certain it is important to iterate that this was my first time in Africa and my only visit to Nigeria, -yet. I am very interessted in this idea of Temporal & Spatial Continuity, and I am now seeing it through the lens of my Ancestral story from West Africa to the Lowcountry of South Carolina. How am I even a LaBorde? Through my Grandma Babe's father, Vincent J. LaBorde. Born in Charleston, South Carolina. History is not as a linear as we think of it in the timeline that has passed, but is a series of gravitational pulls in my life. Why else would I be called and pulled to Nigeria at 18 years old in my first semester at Spelman College in Atlanta, Georgia?
Igboland, with its deep-rooted traditions and vibrant communities, represents the ancestral home of some of my forebears. In contrast, the American Lowcountry offers a different yet equally compelling narrative. This region, known for its lush landscapes and complex social fabric, is where my family found themselves navigating the complexities of life in a new world. I wonder about life for Vincent LaBorde? What made him make a dash to NYC in his early twenties? The interplay between the rich cultural heritage of Igboland and the realities of life in the Lowcountry creates a dynamic tension in my story, one that reflects the broader historical movements of migration, adaptation, and survival. The Lowcountry's history, steeped in the legacy of slavery and the fight for civil rights, parallels the struggles faced by my ancestors, highlighting the intersections of race, identity, and belonging. I am listening...
South Jamaica Queens, my home, my primary breath. It is where I currently reside and pursue my academic endeavors across the waters in Harlem, the first place my great-great grandfather Vincent, found himself at when he was in his early 20s. South Jamaica Queens serves as the contemporary backdrop against which I continue to explore these themes. I am STILL in my Ancestral home, a chosen, rooted place in the North. This vibrant neighborhood is a melting pot of cultures, a place where the past and present converge. We are going through major gentrification and deed theft. But it is my complicated and easy home. My academic life is not just a personal journey of intellectual growth; it is also an ongoing dialogue with the histories of Igboland and the American Lowcountry. Even if I am only now remembering these histories through frequencies. As I delve into my studies, I am constantly reminded of the stories that came before me, the sacrifices made by those who paved the way, and the rich cultural heritage that informs my perspective.
These temporal markers—the arrival of my ancestors in the 18th century, the lived experiences of my great-grandmother Rosebud's generation, and my current academic pursuits—create a continuum that compels me to reckon with my past. How could you ask me to think about anything else? They challenge me to repair the ruptures that history has wrought, to weave together the fragmented narratives of my family, and to honor the legacy of those who came before me. In this interplay of geography and time, I find a deeper understanding of my identity, one that is intricately linked to the places I have come from and the stories I carry within me. It is my current duty to defend the dead.
In my collage, I am reclaiming space. My photos standing before the vibrant blue home not yet knowing the terror that awaited, and embracing friendsfamily in West Africa, coupled with living and navigating the South for Spelman as a return, anchor the abstract concept of "geography" into tangible, lived human connection. I theorize about the Archive Being in Our Skin still. As a Black feminist scholar engaged in autoethnography and ancestral education, my work emphasizes that knowledge isn't just found in books( I love them down and please we need to read more of them)—it lives in the body, memory, and everyday cultural practices. Down to the seafood boil! I was strictly plant-based for over a decade, I haven't eaten meat since 2005. However, I have eaten seafood boils within the last two years. They bring me so much joy! I think about foodways as Living History. The image of the Lowcountry seafood boil (shrimp, sausage, corn, potatoes) serves as a visual representation of cultural endurance. Foodways represent one of the most resilient "spatial magnets," linking West African rice/coastal farming techniques to Gullah Geechee and Lowcountry culinary traditions passed down through generations. Now y'all pray I don't start eating chicken and hogsmogs...Ancestors, please keep it cute for me. Please.
Black people, we hold each other. The archival black-and-white photograph of my Grandma Babe with her father, Vincent, alongside modern photos of joy and community in Nigeria illustrates that care, nurturance, and love are enduring radical tools across time and space. There is always evidence of intergenerational affection and community. So how do I transcribe a hug and tug from the Ancestral space? Well, I received a nudge in an email to complete a review about a paper on Gullah Geechee with a future address of Dr., and it was sent on September 21, 2026. Exactly five years after my great-grandmother passed. You see what I am saying. This is why she told me to sit down today, right now and process with some music. As a scholar, mother, and descendant, I am not studying this history as strictly an external observer; I am reviewing and shaping the discourse as a direct descendant whose personal DNA (13% / 33% Igbo), maternal lineage (RoseBud), and embodied experience belong to the very legacy being discussed.
I'll end there for now. Thanks for reading.
Comments