"Something missing, something more"

Today I went to a gathering for Malidoma Patrice Some', at Weisser Park Community Center, located just off Creighton Avenue. I was so frustrated because I had never been to Weisser Park before, and Mapquest failed me, making me about 30 minutes late. But the stress and frustration I felt on the drive to Weisser Park melted away as soon as I stepped in the door of the community center.

Here I was, one of four white faces in the audience, and I felt completely at home. I knew a lot of the people who were in attendance, many of them being students or teachers of Jenbe. These kids I have grown to respect greatly, and the process of getting to know a completely different culture from my own shed some light on not only West Afrikan (the traditional spelling) culture, but my own as well.

First, I realized that I am the not-so proud owner of some deeply etched prejudices. I feel I can admit that because most people do have prejudice in their hearts to some degree. I am not proud of that fact, but getting to know these crazy energetic young people has been wonderful. The first time I met them, I wondered why everyone talked over one another (more than some young people do, maybe), and talked back to the "elder", the person who had the floor. I found out today. In the Afrikan culture, the act of "talking back" to a speaker is a way of showing respect to not only the speaker, but to the ancestors as well. The act of talking back represents that the one talking back is paying attention, and moved by what the speaker is saying. It's support.

In my culture, it's a sign of disrespect to talk while someone else is talking, but it's embraced and expected in others. Now I understand.

I realized also that I feel like a tightly wound white chick when I'm around these kids. I needed to loosen up when I stepped through the doors. That was a hard lesson to learn, but today, in front of Malidoma Patrice Some' and company, I danced. I sang, and at times I sang loud. I remembered a time when I was a small child and my great grandfather would sing in church. He was an awful singer, but he did it anyway because he was moved by the words, by the feeling, by the connection he felt to his god, to his religion. I never felt that in church, but I felt it today. I felt the connection to Mother Africa, the cradle of life. Everyone's life, not just that of black people.

This connection to the mother land, to the traditional drums, dancing and culture makes me sad, makes me feel like I'm missing something. My culture is all about modernity, and the past is seen as outdated, worn out, obsolete. We are supposedly the newest, best versions of humanity. Our links to the past are fleeting, if at all. In the Afrikan culture, among Afrikan Americans and other Afrikan traditions, links to the past and to ancestry are the hands that lift this current generation up. Ancestors are respected, loved, and still looked to for advice, even if they had passed years, decades, centuries before. They still gain wisdom, and pass it down to the living. There is a real, tanglible relationship between the living and the dead.

I am reminded of Nancy Welch's article about "excessiveness". One must ask oneself, "Is there something I'm missing? Something more?" After watching and participating in the presentation today, I realize there is a piece missing, a piece of my heart, and a piece of my past that I don't know. I don't know my ancestors, and I have never tried to talk to them. I am missing something, and now I'm searching for that, for something more.