Sunday morning was breezy. I arrived about 5 a.m. to an African sunset, daybreak on the horizon. People were drumming and sitting around the fires--children prayed, Muslims greeted the rising sun and then slowly the lines formed and people walked through the Doors of No Return. There were many newcomers this year--refreshing, everyone was excited and many had cameras ready to capture the moment, even at those inappropriate times....Some wanted to capture the moment so much so, I spent much of the first part of the ritual asking people to put away their cameras, and most did. The flashing bulbs were a bit disconcerting.
We opened with a dance recalling the suffering and trauma our ancestors experienced, followed by pouring of libations by Brother Greg, Sister Ayanna and Sister Geri. It was really lovely. The entire ritual was lovely...I was so caught up in the logistics, I didn't have a chance to really enjoy the day until everyone was gone and I finally had an opportunity to reflect.
I wrote this prior to the Ritual, and everyone didn't get a copy, so I have resubmitted it here--just in case.
Reflections: Maafa 2008
By Wanda Sabir
It’s been year since I have seen many of you and I hope your solar journey has been blessed. We always hope this annual commemoration of our ancestors is an opportunity to forge bonds and develop umoja, kujichagulia and ujamaa, but alas life and other distractions get in the way. Here we are once again…and with this—our collective presence, is another opportunity to meet one new person today and promise to call each other three times during this 12 month cycle just to let the other person know you care about him or her and hold them in the light of truth and blessings and all good things.
Can we do this? Of course we can.
The organizers, especially this one standing before you appreciates Wo’se Church of the Sacred African Way, and the administration’s commitment to take on the financial responsibility of the commemoration at the beach each year for the past few years. This is the true spirit of Harambee, the clenched fist…each person a finger in the hand –the power present in the impact of the hammer on the situation…in this case remembrance and responsibility and safety. I want to especially thank our elder, Baba Alaman Haile who is part of the handful of volunteers who spent many days and months thinking and planning events around the theme of remembrance and responsibility and safety. Once a people feel safe, they can learn to trust one another.
I’m not saying that spies are not present and that everyone standing and listening is your sister or brother, but we have to start somewhere and what better place than at the feet those who made our path easier to follow?
We come together in the spirit of our ancestors to remember and to look to our responsibility to do more and go further than they were able to. Our community is in dire straits. Ever under attack, we’ve let the enemy into our ranks and it’s going to take a concerted effort to get rid of this evil force. This is what the Maafa addresses, the soul and spirit sickness directly connected to the suffering a disposed and transported people experienced and still experience throughout the world where the African presence is defiled, disgraced, denigrated, and despised. No one wants to be an African, yet most of us cannot escape…some of us don’t want to escape, yet don’t know how to live in this skin, in this heritage, in this soul…connected to generations of other such souls…healthy and happy—well and doing even better than we expected in an ever repressive society, during its time of economic crisis.
This is why we come together each year the day before Indigenous People’s Day: to remind ourselves of our beauty, our resilience, our strength and our wonderful heritage, which though we’re commemorating our ancestors who didn’t get a funeral…who perished without anyone calling their name or setting a marker on their graves—we know African history didn’t begin with the European slave trade, a slave trade outlawed this year, January 1808, 200 years ago in this country. But do you think that stopped anything?
No. Watch the film, “Traces of the Trade,” which is being shown this afternoon at the Museum of the African Diaspora on Mission at Third Street in San Francisco, 12-2 p.m. Admission is $5. The co-producer, Katrina Browne, a descendant of the DeWolf family, the largest traders in Africans in this country, will be present to talk about her film afterwards.
Again, the relationship starts with us. Get the phone number and email address for one person you don’t know today and develop a fraternal relationship with him or her— We have to get to know one another outside this special time for African people in the San Francisco Bay Area—The Maafa Commemoration. This is a funeral and at funerals all the folks come out your haven’t seen in a long while. We usually promise to get together under more pleasant or happier circumstances, but the years pass and once again, we see each other at another funeral. Please fill out the questionnaires that are attached to the program. Send in donations. Visit the website: http://maafasfbayarea.com. Comment at the blog which is linked to the site. Let us know what you are doing and how we can support you. Also let us know what you’d like to see happen outside this commemorative ritual each year. We are especially interested in those who have developed strategies to help our people heal from the residual psychological effects of enslavement—in all its ugly forms and manifestations. I am experiencing drive-bys and walk-by shootings on my block in East Oakland. It’s scary. What can we do to heal? What can we do to help our youth channel their rage? What is available already and what can we create to use this energy as the basis for problem solving and productivity rather than death and destruction? And it’s not just the youth, women and men are also experiencing this trauma—life in America with all its implications. Our morbidity is high from preventable ailments such as hypertension, some cancers, stress which leads to other diseases, like AIDS, illiteracy, mental illness, suicide and homicide. Are there any doctors in the house—and I’m not just speaking of medical practitioners; however, we need to know who you are and where you practice too.
Don’t forget to visit: http://wandaspicks.com/ for all the news you need to know. Listen to my radio show also: Wanda's Picks, a program of the African Sistah's Media Network. Visit http://www.wandaspicks.asmnetwork.org/ (Tune in Thursdays: 6-7 AM and Fridays 8-10 AM)
I went to the historic black town of Allensworth yesterday. This weekend Allensworth celebrated its 100th anniversary. It took my younger daughter, my granddaughter and I, 4 hours to get there and 4 hours to return. I haven’t been to bed in a couple of days now, but I wanted my children to see what an African – Col Allensworth was a former enslaved African, is capable of and what happens to black people when they are prosperous in America. The county of Tulare cut off the town’s water and the train was diverted and all the commerce died with first one injunction and then the other. Yet despite this Maya Angelou says, “We Rise” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JqOqo50LSZ0). We might rise a little further down the road, or rise up and muster our posse and return, but like steam from the kettle…we keep getting up, ‘cause there ain’t no stopping an African on a mission, and that mission is peace, justice and prosperity.
Still I Rise
By Maya Angelou
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/still-i-rise/
We opened with a dance recalling the suffering and trauma our ancestors experienced, followed by pouring of libations by Brother Greg, Sister Ayanna and Sister Geri. It was really lovely. The entire ritual was lovely...I was so caught up in the logistics, I didn't have a chance to really enjoy the day until everyone was gone and I finally had an opportunity to reflect.
I wrote this prior to the Ritual, and everyone didn't get a copy, so I have resubmitted it here--just in case.
Reflections: Maafa 2008
By Wanda Sabir
It’s been year since I have seen many of you and I hope your solar journey has been blessed. We always hope this annual commemoration of our ancestors is an opportunity to forge bonds and develop umoja, kujichagulia and ujamaa, but alas life and other distractions get in the way. Here we are once again…and with this—our collective presence, is another opportunity to meet one new person today and promise to call each other three times during this 12 month cycle just to let the other person know you care about him or her and hold them in the light of truth and blessings and all good things.
Can we do this? Of course we can.
The organizers, especially this one standing before you appreciates Wo’se Church of the Sacred African Way, and the administration’s commitment to take on the financial responsibility of the commemoration at the beach each year for the past few years. This is the true spirit of Harambee, the clenched fist…each person a finger in the hand –the power present in the impact of the hammer on the situation…in this case remembrance and responsibility and safety. I want to especially thank our elder, Baba Alaman Haile who is part of the handful of volunteers who spent many days and months thinking and planning events around the theme of remembrance and responsibility and safety. Once a people feel safe, they can learn to trust one another.
I’m not saying that spies are not present and that everyone standing and listening is your sister or brother, but we have to start somewhere and what better place than at the feet those who made our path easier to follow?
We come together in the spirit of our ancestors to remember and to look to our responsibility to do more and go further than they were able to. Our community is in dire straits. Ever under attack, we’ve let the enemy into our ranks and it’s going to take a concerted effort to get rid of this evil force. This is what the Maafa addresses, the soul and spirit sickness directly connected to the suffering a disposed and transported people experienced and still experience throughout the world where the African presence is defiled, disgraced, denigrated, and despised. No one wants to be an African, yet most of us cannot escape…some of us don’t want to escape, yet don’t know how to live in this skin, in this heritage, in this soul…connected to generations of other such souls…healthy and happy—well and doing even better than we expected in an ever repressive society, during its time of economic crisis.
This is why we come together each year the day before Indigenous People’s Day: to remind ourselves of our beauty, our resilience, our strength and our wonderful heritage, which though we’re commemorating our ancestors who didn’t get a funeral…who perished without anyone calling their name or setting a marker on their graves—we know African history didn’t begin with the European slave trade, a slave trade outlawed this year, January 1808, 200 years ago in this country. But do you think that stopped anything?
No. Watch the film, “Traces of the Trade,” which is being shown this afternoon at the Museum of the African Diaspora on Mission at Third Street in San Francisco, 12-2 p.m. Admission is $5. The co-producer, Katrina Browne, a descendant of the DeWolf family, the largest traders in Africans in this country, will be present to talk about her film afterwards.
Again, the relationship starts with us. Get the phone number and email address for one person you don’t know today and develop a fraternal relationship with him or her— We have to get to know one another outside this special time for African people in the San Francisco Bay Area—The Maafa Commemoration. This is a funeral and at funerals all the folks come out your haven’t seen in a long while. We usually promise to get together under more pleasant or happier circumstances, but the years pass and once again, we see each other at another funeral. Please fill out the questionnaires that are attached to the program. Send in donations. Visit the website: http://maafasfbayarea.com. Comment at the blog which is linked to the site. Let us know what you are doing and how we can support you. Also let us know what you’d like to see happen outside this commemorative ritual each year. We are especially interested in those who have developed strategies to help our people heal from the residual psychological effects of enslavement—in all its ugly forms and manifestations. I am experiencing drive-bys and walk-by shootings on my block in East Oakland. It’s scary. What can we do to heal? What can we do to help our youth channel their rage? What is available already and what can we create to use this energy as the basis for problem solving and productivity rather than death and destruction? And it’s not just the youth, women and men are also experiencing this trauma—life in America with all its implications. Our morbidity is high from preventable ailments such as hypertension, some cancers, stress which leads to other diseases, like AIDS, illiteracy, mental illness, suicide and homicide. Are there any doctors in the house—and I’m not just speaking of medical practitioners; however, we need to know who you are and where you practice too.
Don’t forget to visit: http://wandaspicks.com/ for all the news you need to know. Listen to my radio show also: Wanda's Picks, a program of the African Sistah's Media Network. Visit http://www.wandaspicks.asmnetwork.org/ (Tune in Thursdays: 6-7 AM and Fridays 8-10 AM)
I went to the historic black town of Allensworth yesterday. This weekend Allensworth celebrated its 100th anniversary. It took my younger daughter, my granddaughter and I, 4 hours to get there and 4 hours to return. I haven’t been to bed in a couple of days now, but I wanted my children to see what an African – Col Allensworth was a former enslaved African, is capable of and what happens to black people when they are prosperous in America. The county of Tulare cut off the town’s water and the train was diverted and all the commerce died with first one injunction and then the other. Yet despite this Maya Angelou says, “We Rise” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JqOqo50LSZ0). We might rise a little further down the road, or rise up and muster our posse and return, but like steam from the kettle…we keep getting up, ‘cause there ain’t no stopping an African on a mission, and that mission is peace, justice and prosperity.
Still I Rise
By Maya Angelou
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/still-i-rise/
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