#Geechee Land

[reasoningdaily]

Nothing about this is right - nothing

[ausetkmt]

The McIntosh County Commission passed a controversial zoning ordinance amendment Tuesday that residents of the last remaining Geechee community in Georgia say could push them out of the ancestral home.

The amendment changed a nearly 30-year-old rule that limited the size of dwellings in the Hogg Hummock, also called Hog Hammock, community to 1,400 square feet of heated and cooled space to allow homes as large as 3,000 square feet of enclosed, interior space. The existing ordinance was unenforceable, commissioners said, because people would leave unfinished space to get a certificate of occupancy and then go back and finish off a house to make it larger than the ordinance allowed.

Commissioner Roger Lotson, who represents Sapelo Island on the county commission, spoke for the vocal opposition at the meeting and said allowing houses that large in the community once owned exclusively by descendants of formerly enslaved people will lead to higher property values and higher property taxes and push people out of their ancestral homes. That will ruin the cultural and historic uniqueness of the community, he said.

“Mostly, we need to do what we said we would do,” Lotson said, referring to a comprehensive plan for the county that includes preserving history and cultural heritage. “We talked the talk, now it’s time to walk the walk.”

Opponents have said they were not included in the process of writing the ordinance amendment and that they were not given enough time to make their feelings known about it. A public hearing was held Thursday at which dozens of people spoke in opposition to the amendment, saying that it would lead to the erasure of the Geechee community on Sapelo Island and destroy a long and proud heritage.

Lotson said he had not spoken to one person who was in favor of the new zoning rules.

He implored his fellow commissioners to vote against passing the amendment and made a motion to bring down the maximum square footage further, to 2,180 square feet. That motion failed.

Commissioner Davis Poole then made a motion to pass the amendment with the 3,000-square-foot rule in place. Commissioner Katie Karwacki seconded the motion. She and Poole voted for the amendment to pass. Lotson and Commissioner William Harrell voted against it. Commission Chairman David Stevens cast the tie breaking vote.

Poole said after the motion passed that he took an oath to treat everyone equally as a county commissioner and that this amendment was a reasonable compromise. It will prevent mansions being built in Hogg Hummock while also allowing for larger homes than currently exist.

“This change will not destroy the culture of Gullah-Geechee on the island,” he said. “… We need to work together to move forward to collaborate on ways to economically empower the island residents.”

Stevens refuted claims by people who said they did not have enough time to provide input on the amendment. He said groups had sought input for more than a year with the purpose of influencing the amendment’s final version.

He also refuted the claim that the new rule is a money grab for property taxes or to allow wealthy people to take over the historically Black community.

“It was never my personal attempt or intent to allow 15,000 or 20,000 square foot homes to be built on Sapelo Island,” Stevens said. “I would not have supported it if that was the case.”

Stevens and Poole both noted that all the property in Hogg Hummock was once owned only by Geechee descendants who now have sold off roughly 50 percent of the lots. The best way to stop unwanted new homes or outsiders into the community is to stop selling the land, Stevens said.

He named numerous prominent people from Sapelo Island who he has known and said the island is special to him as it is to many others.

Josiah “Jazz” Watts, a justice strategist for the environmental group 100 Miles, said 3,000 square feet is too large and will ruin the historic character of Hogg Hummock.

It will also threaten the natural and ecological beauty and uniqueness of the island.

“We’re here now because the county failed to do its job,” Watts said of enforcing the 1,400-square-foot rule.

He said simply removing the heated-and-cooled square footage language would have made the ordinance enforceable.

“That’s like saying the speed limit is 50, but people go 75, so we’ll make the speed limit 100,” Watts said.

He said the community will mobilize and look at all legal options moving forward.

“We’re going to fight this,” Watts said

[not-so-superheroine]

fun fact, i live in a swamp.  no, it doesn’t smell bad. when you get to the swampy areas there are cypress trees in the water that put of the smell really good.  the marshes near the salt and brackish water that smell like the pluff mud from which the sweetgrass grows. it smellls like dead sea creatures and works like quick sand and the more tou struggle the more you sink. simply do not walk on it. i have literally never in all my years. anyway, living in a swamp is cool. there are all sorts of creatures and plants. you can find and hunt for food. i wouldn’t go swimming in it (don’t die from brain eating amoeba or gators pls. take florida level precautions bc it’s not that that different in coastal neigboring states). we also have lots of swamp themed/related events. my favorite is the hell hole swamp festival, a bomb community event where everyone comes out for essentially a swampy country fair (no rides or funnel cakes but like barbeque and cake and children’s games, and child school choirs, and fun competions. Its also home of the Hell Hole Gator Run, a 10 K. The Hell Hole Talent Show is great too. Just community members of all ages putting on performances and a dinner. If you are from the lowcountry come check it out. we admittedly can be a bit insular, but bring a friend or family and you’ll intergrate right in. express interest in them, their culture, and the geographic area and they will be happy to share.  there are state parks specifically so people can enjoy there time in said swamp. the Santee Canal park has a nature museum that’s pretty cool. you can learn about the ecology of the area and the flora and fauna there in. knowing how to navigate the swamp help the US win the revolutionary war (they didn’t have immunity against malaria and probably got attacked by gators like today’s clueless and or ignorant tourists to the southeast US. like don’t get piss drunk in an area that has deadly wild life and don’t think you’re city smarts apply in nature. they don’t. listen to locals. also don’t screw around with the gators??? we have tourists who pelt them with stones. they are opportunistic hunters who often don’t even mess with you unprompted most of the time. they are important to the enviroment and tourist foolishness can get them put down/ euthanized). i realize i keep pointing out how deadly it can be, but urban places like NYC, Philly, Los Angelos, and Chicago have their potentially deadly issues, just different ones. still places worth visiting and respecting.  but basically, i live in a swamp and it’s great actually. i often feel like Shrek when people come here to live and disrespect the area. it’s a beautiful place, ecologically important, has events you can’t find in urban areas, people (left and right politically) care about ecological preservation (hunters and fisherman are on board). don’t disrespect the swamp because the swamp WILL disrespect you. also don’t try to make it new york city or columbus. (becuse its usually and ohian. they are gentrifying the area and promoting “development” that ruins the natural beauty and ecological important cites that the locals take a lot of pride in and are essential to our way of life. literally stay in Ohio if you can’t intergrate into rural/ small towns in southeast states, deadass. i get so angry, no joke. i love my home and my swamp. the state most hated by south carolinians is ohio and there is a reason for that.) in the words of shrek which often echo in my head: “what are you doing in MY Swamp?!!!” i like it here, you should totally visit and drop you preconceptions to best enjoy the experience, and be on your toes and your best behavior if you are an ohian, because most of us already hate all things ohio and will may mess with you if you have an ohio tag on your car and tick them off on the road for diving rudely or insulting said swamp, and our preferred “lack” of development. We feel about it like shrek did tbh. we want to live in south carolina, not ohio /srs.

[tiredtwstoutt]

I need y’all attention for just a few minutes, I know I haven’t been on here much but if y’all could please sign and share this petition to show support for the Gullah Geechee community!

Here is a screenshot of what is going on.

[yourapple56-blog]

This is how greedy business go after ppl!

[kumkaniudaku]

At Last: Part One

Summary: Patrice returns home to celebrate a birthday and a new beginning.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: None

In a little corner of Wilmington, NC, tucked behind towering Spanish moss trees and sprawling acres of lush green grass, the Habersham family were monarchs on ancestral turf. 

Enslaved Sierra Leonean men and women had tilled this land long before Patrice was a twinkle in her mother and father’s eyes. They hoped, prayed, and danced for a future where babies far down their lineage could have a place to visit for a connection to their love and guidance beyond the physical realm. According to some, their spirits still roamed the fields once holding them captive in great triumph.

Long-held West African customs preserved and passed down over time had transformed into the uniquely rich Gullah culture that still governed the eldest generation of Habershams and their children. While much of the language patterns had been lost, Sybil Habersham-Lewis and her baby sister, Rosalyn, worked tirelessly to keep the family home tidy and traditions alive. 

They never hesitated to tell stories of how their great-grandfather rebuilt the big house with his bare hands to rid his offspring of a torrid legacy from a man he reluctantly called father. They sometimes laughed about how he, a fair-skinned man with green eyes and a mean streak, met and married a slender songstress with blue-black skin within six months of laying eyes on her. Paul and Efua produced eight children in that home. Those eight children created a line of movers and shakers that stretched far and wide. 

One of those movers and shakers stared out of the passenger side window with eyes wide as saucers and a smile that rivaled the sun, watching trees donning brown, red, and orange leaves whiz past on the way to her favorite place in the world. Patrice was itching to get out of the car and kick her shoes off to feel the soft tickle of damp Bermuda grass between her toes. She longed to see her uncle’s horses, eat fresh seafood until her stomach ached, and recap moments in her girlhood with her cousins. She couldn’t wait to kiss Nana's face 95 times for her 95th birthday. She needed to smell the blue hydrangeas in her auntie’s garden. She needed to be home.

Terry stole glances at Patrice, finding joy in her enthusiasm. She hadn’t slept a wink the night before or in the nearly two-hour ride from Fayetteville. He knew she’d tucker out eventually, but seeing her brimming with unbridled happiness made his heart swell. 

“God, I hope my auntie made okra. Oooh and crab cakes. I haven’t had any in so long!”

Terry listened to the way her accent slurred and shortened words in rapid succession with a smile. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to understand you by the end of the weekend.” 

“You’ll be lucky to keep up past tonight.” she laughed. "My granny ‘dem Geechee tuh de bone."

“Y’all make everything sound like music. I like it.” 

“If you tell Moon Pie that, she might try to take you from me.” 

“You gon’ let her?” 

“Hell nah. I’ll whoop her ass. She ain’t crazy.” 

The thought of having to put hands on her cousin behind her man made Patrice scowl while Terry let off a loud, shoulder-shaking cackle. Though she was serious as a heart attack, she laughed along with him to release the tension building in her muscles. 

Terry reached across the center console to gently rub her arm before playfully caressing her chin to pull a smile from her lips. 

“No way I’d let you fight as pretty as you are. Plus, we’re celebrating all weekend. If you aren’t smiling from tonight ‘til Sunday, I didn’t do my job.” 

Patrice’s mouth twisted into a suspicious smirk. “And what’s your job? You know, if someone were to ask for a friend.”

“Keeping you happy.” His cheeky quip made her eyes roll as she kissed her teeth. 

For over a week Terry had been tight lipped about something Patrice couldn’t put her finger on. She’d tried to catch him in a fib or make him slip up and share whatever details existed behind hushed calls and unmarked deliveries. But, Terry was notorious for keeping secrets under lock and key. Whatever he was planning would sneak up on her like a thief in the night. 

“You nervous to meet everyone?” Patrice questioned to change the subject.

“Nah, I’m good.” He cut his eyes in Patrice’s direction and smiled when he found her already eying him skeptically. “Think I’m lying?” 

“Yeah, I think you’re full of shit. Either that or you’re truly unaware of how crazy my folks are. No way you aren’t a little concerned.” 

He shrugged. “I’m not too worried. I love you, so I know I’ll love them. We’ll figure out the parts in the middle.” 

Everything Terry knew about Patrice, in his mind, was a beautiful amalgamation of those who had a hand in raising her into the woman she’d grown into. He knew her mother and how the two shared the same heart for community service. From her father, she’d inherited an uncanny ability to stop a whole room from speaking with only a raised eyebrow. Though he’d only heard stories of her grandmother, he could tell that her independent nature was a founding feature. And, if those things could make his heart turn flips with one look across a crowded room, he’d have no trouble making space for his bonus family. 

Patrice tried to formulate a counterpunch to Terry’s levelheaded assessment of the situation but had a change of heart as smooth asphalt transitioned into the familiar crunch of gravel beneath her car’s tires. 

Black iron gates adorned with an ornate H were pulled open, giving anyone casually walking by a peak into an almost mythical land. Terry’s eyes darted from place to place, lingering on the hanging moss trees lining their path, then on the children gleefully chasing each other through fallen leaves around a small white gazebo, before landing on a magnificent wrap-around porch serving as a gathering spot for elder men taking inventory of fishing equipment for an early morning trip to catch the evening’s meal. The Big House, as Patrice affectionately called it, was a modern marvel, an oasis for every hue of black man, woman, and child with Habersham blood in their veins to feel like they were somebody in an otherwise cruel world. 

“Beautiful, ain’t it? Auntie did her thing with the last renovation.” Patrice asked, beaming as she started to unbuckle her seatbelt.

“Incredible. Is this al-” 

Whatever was left of Terry’s awe-inspired sentence was swept into the wind as Patrice hopped from the passenger seat and onto the concrete driveway before the car could come to a full stop. 

Like a child finally released from the confines of their classroom onto the playground for 30 minutes of recess freedom, she hit the ground in a slight jog to greet a woman about her age skipping down the porch steps to meet her halfway. 

“Imani,” Patrice hollered, her arms already outstretched in anticipation of a hug. 

Imani called her name back with equal excitement until the two women were joined in a tight embrace. Terry watched from afar, a warm smile tugging his lips to one side as he shut off the engine and exited the vehicle. 

The two women rocked side to side until they’d had their fill of one another. Imani pulled away first to get a look at her favorite baby cousin. 

“My girlfrieeend,” she sang, imitating the theme song from the only show they watched for a full summer in their teens. “You look so good. The skin, the hair, the body! It’s all working right now.” 

“Me? Look at you! I know for a fact this caftan is from like Paris or Bali or somewhere crazy.” 

“Oh you know, just a little somethin’ custom from London. Not too much, not too much.” 

“How you stand it there with that nasty looking food is beyond me, girl.” 

Imani laughed. “That’s for them other folks. People that look like us know where to get a good meal. You oughta come see me sometime. Book a flight and let me worry about the rest.” 

“Next summer?” 

“I’ll throw it on my calendar. Bring Mister Man, too.” 

Patrice didn’t need to turn around to know that Terry had made his presence known. She could feel the warmth of his hand on her lower back as he joined her side. 

If he hadn’t known her for nearly two decades, Terry would have easily gotten Patrice and Imani confused. Both women wore glowing deep dark skin like a badge of honor, soaking up rays of sun and reflecting them in the way that only ethereal beings could. Wide noses and plump, pink and brown lips complimented impossibly high cheekbones. Beauty marks at the corners of opposite eyes might possibly be a tell-tale sign if one could fight being lulled into a trance by the sheer grace they both possessed. The only difference was Imani’s slight height advantage and low, ash blonde haircut.

“Wow,” he whispered, the words catching him by surprise. He shook his head in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I just - y’all are damn near twins.” 

“Don’t I know it,” they spoke in unison. 

Patrice took over after a chuckle. “They used to call us Frick and Frack. Mostly because they couldn’t always tell who was who.”

“Which Petey over here never wanted to use to our advantage.” 

“Petey?” Terry questioned. 

“Wait, she never told you her nic-” 

“And, that’s enough,” Patrice hollered, purposely eclipsing Imani’s voice to keep her cousin from going further. “Terrence, this Imani. Imani this is Terrence, my man.” 

Terry could feel a bolt of lightning surge through his body as he reached out to shake Imani’s hand. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure what Patrice might call him in a simple introduction. He’d always given her a treasure trove of titles - his lady, the love of his life, maybe his wife one day if the Lord willed it so. He’d introduced her so much that they never explored how the inverse would work. But hearing himself be proudly referred to as her’s was a shock to the system that he hadn’t prepared for but welcomed all the same. 

Imani waved his outstretched hand away and pulled him in for a hug. “Boy, we family. Come here and get this squeeze.”

Like an old friend, Imani pulled Terry into a welcoming hug. Patrice looked on with a silent thanks to God. If what she knew of her cousin still held weight, they’d be fast friends and thick as thieves by the end of the weekend. 

Pulling away, she lightly tapped his chest and looked at Patrice. “I can’t believe I finally get to meet Terry Richmond in person. You’re basically her Nelly!” she laughed, recalling Patrice’s near obsession with St. Louis and their hometown hero after Hot in Herre debuted. Patrice rolled her eyes while Terry and Imani held on to each other through loud laughter.

“Got damn, Moanie, hold ‘em hostage why don’t you! You ain’t the only person they know ‘round here.” 

“Hey, Daddy!” 

“Hey, Baby Girl!”

The perfectly timed distraction took Patrice’s attention away long enough for the newest tandem to exchange hushed conversation.

“Yeah, but I’m the best!” Imani hollered back before winking at Terry and Patrice. “Go on. I’ll have the boys get y’all’s stuff. Make sure you get to the kitchen. Think Mama’s got some pound cake cut for you.”

The mention of other family members awaiting their arrival was a quick reminder that Terry had barely scratched the surface of new faces and connections. Every direction he turned presented another opportunity to be pulled into a spirited handshake or warm hug. 

With the men in her life, he was immediately received with masculine equivalents of praise for his physical form.

“Son, you look like ya 'bout tuh buss out dat shirt 'round ya arms. Petey, you don’t have to worry ‘bout no protection, huh?” was Uncle PJ’s way of saying he was confident in Terry’s ability to keep Patrice safe. 

“You comin’ out fishin’? Country boy like you probably catch catfish with your bare hands!” 

“Where you from?”

“Where your people from?” 

“They white? How you get them green eyes?”

“You got kids? You sure?” 

“You know you got some ears on you, don’t ya!”

Patrice’s father, Leon, interjected to save Terry from an increasingly invasive dive into his personal history. “Don’t answer none of that. But I would like you to come out on the water with us. Have a beer or two so we can finish that conversation from the other week.” 

“Y’all talking about me behind my back?” 

“Hell, I do,” Junior laughed. “She aggravating, bruh. You can say it. Go ‘head.”

“You better not.” 

Patrice playfully poked a perfectly manicured finger into Terry’s chest to force his silence, earning a chaste kiss on the forehead. Junior scoffed and sipped from his half-empty bottle of water.

“T, you grown now. Your big ass don’t have to let her boss you no more.” 

“That’s my favorite part,” Terry answered, finally speaking up for himself. “She sweet when she wanna be.”

“I ain’t seen it.”

“Because I don’t like you, Junior. How many times do we have to go over this?”

Terry tried to contain his wide grin from watching the siblings bicker like old times. He’d been in the middle of many a verbal tussle between them, always stepping in as the voice of reason. He still held the role of peacemaker all these years later. 

“She loves you, man. Still keeps your room up and everything.” 

Leon shook his head at his children’s antics. “Good thing you here. I couldn’t take that shit this weekend.” He pointed at the passenger seat of his truck and the open lunch box resting in it. “So, you comin’. Got food for you if you wanna ride.” 

“Uh, yeah,” Terry started before looking toward the house at the small audience of women crowding at the kitchen window. They scattered when he caught their gaze, making him laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole thing. “Give us a few minutes. I think there’s some people inside I gotta meet first.” 

“Good luck, man. I would say you got five minutes but we both know that ain’t happening. We’ll wait a bit.”

With one trial by fire ending, another began. In their short walk to the front porch, Patrice had given Terry opportunities to gracefully bow out of the incoming circus and take her father’s invitation as a get out of hell free card. He’d refused every effort with a kind smile and unfounded reassurance that everything would be okay. In his mind, he’d hug a few necks, kiss a few cheeks, and be out of dodge before anyone could hold him long. 

Stepping into the home’s foyer felt like being in a museum. Photos of Habersham descendants living and passed on to Glory lined the hallway as a reminder of their history on this land. Eyes that carried an array of stories looked back at him, leaving goosebumps across his arms. Especially once he landed on a young woman with a familiar half-smile encased behind an antique picture frame. 

Patrice noticed him stop short to give the photo his full attention. 

“My great-great-great grandma,” she informed, adding extra emphasis on the final ‘great’. “Efua. Nana says she was barely bigger than the kids but ran this place with an iron fist. I believe it. She look like she don’t play.” 

“She looks kinda like you and Imani.” 

Patrice tilted her head to get a better look. “Hm. I guess you’re right.”

Clamoring in the kitchen pulled them away from Efua’s watchful eye and around the corner for their grand entrance. 

Women of every age, size, and shape filled the room from wall to wall, each one participating in the cooking process. On one side, a small group of teenagers huddled to inspect bushels of greens for bugs and cut them in preparation for a proper wash. On the other, small girls shelled black-eyed peas and giggled amongst themselves over TikTok videos. But in the center of the room, where spices and fresh ingredients intermingled for an almost intoxicating aroma and conversation was the loudest, all of the cornerstones of the family gathered to share gossip and wisdom alike. 

Terry’s appearance, tall and muscled with a winning smile to match, sent a hush over even the loudest woman present. 

“Oh God,” Patrice mumbled to herself, preemptively embarrassed by the storm she knew was sure to follow. 

Someone whistled. Then came a low “mm-mm-mm” from an auntie fighting hard to contain herself. Terry let every sound and look fuel his ego for just a few seconds before speaking. 

“Hey, ladies.” 

“Hey, Terry.” 

Every voice greeted him in unison like the Angels speaking to Charlie over that old speakerphone. Patrice screwed her face and pinched his shoulder. He’d been given strict instructions the night before, but being in the moment called for an audible that immediately made him a shiny new toy to be paraded.

Before he could have any say so, Patrice’s mother was ushering him around for every aunt and cousin to say a personal hello. He charmed each woman who met his acquaintance like a seasoned politician. If nothing else, they could all hang on to the memory of meeting the long-fabled Terrence Richmond. 

But, for all the pomp and circumstance, every breath hitched once Rosalyn led Terry to matriarch. 

She wore 95 years on Earth well. Chestnut skin covered in beauty marks crinkled around her eyes as she smiled back at him. Even as she sat in her wheelchair more slight and fragile than Patrice remembered, Terry could see her inner strength shining through.

Patrice watched her mother lean down and speak something into her grandmother’s ear before directing Terry to crouch down to eye level. He did as he was told, gingerly capturing her much smaller hands in his. 

“Hi, Ms. Ida. I’m so happy to finally meet you. My name is Terrence.” 

The softness in his voice ignited a chorus of heartwarming sentiments from every corner. Patrice had become so enraptured in the meeting she never thought would happen that she nearly missed her mother directing her to join Terry’s side. 

Ida didn’t say much back to him. Instead, she slid her hand from his grasp and traced her fingertips along the perimeter of his face. She examined him from all angles with a nostalgic look in her gaze. Terry tried not to let confusion come through in his expression, but Rosalyn caught the sliver of uncertainty. 

“You remind her of somebody close, that’s all. Same eyes.” 

He’d inadvertently sent her back to her childhood, bringing back memories so deep in her mind she thought she might never get them back. Even with slightly darker skin and broader features than Paul could boast back then, Ida still saw him clear as day. And that, all those years later, made her feel more alive than ever on her 95th birthday.

Ida tapped his jaw lightly and laughed. “Mhm. Petey, this him?” 

Finally joining Terry’s side, Patrice mimicked him and knelt by her grandmother’s feet. 

“Yes ma’am. He wanted to be here for your birthday.” 

“Nice looking boy, ain’t he?” 

Patrice giggled. “He cute, I guess. I heard he got you a gift for tonight, but he won’t tell me what it is. Can you believe it?”

“Well, hell, this all the gift I need. Give me anything else and I might not make it to 96!” 

“Mama!” 

Sybil hated when her mother made jokes about death, but Terry couldn’t help but laugh. He wanted to joke with her, see what else she might say knowing that no one in the house could tell her what to do, but the loud blast of a car horn in the front yard reminded him that he’d made a prior commitment. 

Gently, he squeezed her knee and spoke loud enough for her to hear. “Now, I go gotta go catch you somethin’ for tonight. You gon’ be here when I’m back?” 

“Oh yeah,” she answered, reinvigorated and saucy like her younger self. “I’ll be dressed up real nice too. Might leave here with two gals on your arm.” 

“You know I never been the sharing type, Nana.” 

Ida smiled at Patrice, nodding in approval. “That’s my girl. Keep that up.”

A second and longer beep let Terry know that time was running out. He quickly bid the group farewell, ending on Patrice with a simple kiss on the cheek and a promise to be back soon. 

While she became swept up in a whirlwind of who, what, when, and where, Rosalyn and Sybil slipped away to speak with Terry on his way out of the door. He’d become the center of attention, even long after his scent had faded. 

“Is he the one from high school?” 

“What’s he like?” 

“Is he always this nice?” 

“Y’all shackin’ up?” 

“When y’all getting married? What about kids?”

More questions, more prying, more assumptions than she could handle. Short, vague answers weren’t enough for them. They wanted the full scoop from the young lady they once knew as a shy girl who only focused on her studies. 

Patrice answered every question with enough detail to satiate their curiosity and maintain some level of privacy in her relationship. For a moment, that was enough. They’d unveiled the mystery of Petey’s other life and could move on to more pressing matters.

They quickly shifted to discussions of other people’s business. Who’d had a baby? Who was divorcing? Who’s kids were raising hell in the community? They took a winding road filled with chats about celebrity news and politics, nonsense about music, and, Patrice’s personal favorite, the old days. 

Those chats, full of lore and laughter, always took place in Nana’s parlor. A room covered in powder pink wallpaper and situated in the corner of the home where natural sunlight welcomed any guests that had the privilege of visiting. 

The older women sat side by side, crammed on expensive armchairs and soft couches, to convene at their leisure. Patrice stood by her favorite spot beside the window with Imani sitting on her right and her grandmother positioned in front of her. On her left stood a small table holding hair grease, a fine-toothed comb, and duck bill clips to help her pincurl Ida’s shoulder length silver hair. Her favorite pastime. 

“Everyone of y’all was bad,” Sybil laughed, referring to the crop of children that came up with Patrice. “Y’all came here every summer acting a damn fool.” 

“Not me and Petey!”

“Especially you and Petey. The worst of the bunch. Just sneaky and sassy!” 

“I don’t know what you talkin’ about. All I did was read and sit up under Nana.” 

Patrice’s highly inaccurate recollection of her time in the country every year made Ida laugh in her wheelchair. “Don’t let ‘em lie on you. I never saw my baby gettin’ in no trouble.” 

“Oh yeah right!” Sybil exclaimed. “Ros, wasn’t you there when these two let all the chickens out and had us chasin’ them ‘round out back.” 

“Sure was. They had all the grown folk out there huffin’, puffin’, and ‘bout to blow the house down!” 

The room fell into laughter watching Sybil imitate the group of adults fighting to capture livestock. Patrice remembered that afternoon and tried to defend their actions. 

“Okay, that is true, but I remember that being your daughter’s idea. I was only helping my sis.” 

Imani shrugged and sat back in her seat. “You raised an activist. Those animals were in captivity.” 

“Moanie, you eat meat,” Moon Pie commented. 

“I never said they didn’t taste good. I said we were holding them captive. The circle of life is different. Now let’s talk about how Moon had us sittin’ at the eating table all night because she wouldn’t finish her Frogmore stew thinkin’ there were real frogs in it.”

“Heaven forbid a girl need proof!” 

More laughter. The kind of laughter that healed deep emotional wounds. The kind that seeped into the walls, keeping the home full of love and light. The kind that made Patrice happy to not only be home but to share a piece of her heart with the man she loved. 

While she wished he could hear the silly stories and witness the exaggerated retellings, Terry was fidgeting with his fingers as he waited for Patrice’s father to meet him at the back of his truck. 

Across the way, the other men sat in small clusters, chatting their way through a midafternoon lunch break. As much as he wanted to talk shop with them about the fate of the Carolina Panthers, there was a more meaningful matter on the table. 

Leon grunted as he closed the driver’s side door and rounded the truck’s cab. “Let that down, will you?”

Terry sprung into action quicker than he meant to, nervousness making him move at hyperspeed. Leon laughed and lifted himself onto the truck bed before handing over a small cooler. 

“Grab whatever you like. We got plenty.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“Just Leon. Kinda weird to call your father-in-law sir, ain’t it? Plus that’s that fool’s name over there and he ain’t worth a damn. Lazy sumbitch.” 

“I got you. Won’t happen again,” Terry chuckled as he pulled a piece off of his turkey sandwich and popped it into his mouth. They sat in silence for a few moments to enjoy the sound of nature around them until he reignited the conversation. “I appreciate y’all agreeing to all this. Especially so quickly. I hope things don’t feel rushed.”

“You ain’t doin’ nothin’ I wouldn’t want for my girl. She need somebody willing to go above and beyond for her. I know you always have and I don’t see you slowin’ down no time soon.” 

Terry nodded, smiling. “Couldn’t if I tried.”

“I know. Moanie got the ring, right?” 

“Yeah. We worked it all out a couple weeks ago. She’s hiding it for me and keeping Treece distracted. You know she’s nosey.”

“Her mama said to call it inquisitive.” 

“Hm. Inquisitive, huh?”

They looked at each other and spoke at the same time. “Nosey.”

“That’s her,” Leon remarked. “Time’s flyin’, ain’t it? I remember when it looked like you was drowning in your clothes. Now look at you. Big as a damn tank. What they feed y’all in the Corps?” 

“Shit, nothing but slop and a hard time seasoned with a dash of casual racism from some crazy white boy outta one of the Dakotas every once in a while.”

Their shared laughter disturbed a cluster of nearby birds, making the rest of the men look in their direction. Sir threw his hands up in the air. 

“Well, damn, Leon. Gone ‘head and fuck up the catch!” 

“Or I can fuck you up instead.” He looked over at Terry struggling to keep his face neutral and shook his head. “I can’t stand his ass. Or his daughter. Or his wife. All of ‘em get on my nerves. C’mon, so we can finish up.”

As high noon gave way to early evening and the sleepiness of fall pushed the sun into the west earlier than usual, Imani and Patrice sat alone in one of the guest rooms engrossed in conversation. 

Imani was the only sister Patrice had ever known. It didn’t matter what portion of the world they occupied or how long it’d been since they last talked, they always picked up right where they left off when they were reunited. 

Patrice focused on the vanity mirror to examine Imani’s careful twists and twirls to place her thick natural hair into bantu knots.

“You think I can grow my hair out like this by January? I’m going to Ghana and I wanna switch it up a little bit.” 

“Of course. Manifest it, my sister!” 

Imani laughed as she parted out another section. “If I ever need somebody to follow up my foolishness, I know I can count on you.” 

“What Whitney said on the Waiting to Exhale soundtrack?” 

Together, they broke into song, harmonizing to breathe life into the final track from one of their favorite movie soundtracks. Imani hugged her cousin from behind and kissed her cheek. 

“I love you, girl. I miss you so much. It gets so lonely being away from home all the time.” 

“I love you, too. Life be life-ing, don’t it?” 

“All the time. I gotta make my way out to Fayetteville and spend more time with y’all. Maybe learn some more about Mister Man.” Patrice tried to hide her bashful smile, making Imani squeal behind her. “So…tell me about Terry. I know you said something downstairs but I wanna know the real scoop.” 

Patrice sighed at the mere thought of their romance. “The way I love that man, girl, I can’t even explain it. I feel like I’m going crazy.” 

“Oooooh! Swept you clean off your feet, huh?” 

“Threw me over his shoulder and hasn’t put me down since. Never in a million years did I expect to end up here with him. I mean I hoped for it, but to be here is mind-blowing. He’s so sweet, Moanie. So, gentle. Kind. More affectionate than I think I was ready for. I don’t know. I’m just in love. I’m happy.” 

“It’s all over you. I see the glow.” 

“Well, that’s from other things,” she added, a cheeky grin spreading across her face.

“Not the choir boy!” 

“Please, don’t let him fool you. Can’t keep him off me or keep his mouth closed when he gets to talking.”

Their shared laughter spilling out into the hallway became a beacon of their location for Terry as he dragged his tired legs up the stairs in search of Patrice.

His knuckles rapping against the closed bedroom door halted the private conversation until they gave him permission to enter. He slowly pushed the door open before poking his head into the room. 

“Everybody decent?” 

“Mhmm. Come on in.” Imani invited over her shoulder. She looked back at Patrice through the mirror as her cousin adjusted her clothing and sat up a little straighter in anticipation of Terry’s avalanche of affection. 

His eyes seemed to close beyond seeing clearly from the sheer force of his smile. 

“Hey, pretty.” 

“Hey, love. You have fun?” 

Terry released a dry chuckle. “Yeah. A real hoot.” 

Imani watched the young couple flirt back and forth, her hand outstretched to pass a small black velvet box from a drawer in her vanity to Terry while he kept Patrice occupied with short kisses. He secured it in one of his cargo pockets before pulling away. 

“You stink,” Patriced joked, half lying.

“I know. I still have some set-up work to do, so I’ll bring your stuff. Don’t want you to get behind on account of me.” 

“Thank you, baby. You’re so sweet.” 

Patrice captured his chin with her fingers and pulled him closer for another kiss. 

Terry lifted an eyebrow in concern. “You sick?” 

“No. I just love you.”

“I love you, too.” He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. The way she softened her gaze to scan his face. The way the gloss on her lips caught the sun. The way every one of her perfect features was on display with her hair pulled up and away from her face. He’d never been more confident in a decision in his life and, if not for the promise he’d made to half of her immediate family, he would’ve done what he drove all the way out to Wilmington for right then and there.

Knowing time was of the essence, Imani cleared her throat and gave Terry a look to urge him along behind Patrice’s back. 

“Well, Terry, think you oughta get down there and set up a table or something, right!”

Snapping out of his trance, Terry stood to his full height to look down at Patrice. “Yeah, you're right. See you a little later?” 

“It’s a date.”

He wanted to give her one more kiss to take with him, but a final reminder for him to scram was the catalyst to push Terry out of the room and leave the ladies to readying for the evening. 

She was all he could think about as he toiled away setting up tents and placing tables exactly how Rosalyn wanted them, sometimes several times over. Even as he casually sipped strong moonshine with Junior and the younger men under lantern light, all dressed in his most pristine white to fit strict instructions, he thought about Patrice and what might look like in the dress she’d chosen. He needed to see her.

His hands were sweating inside of his pockets. He casually caressed the velvet of that small black box, occasionally flipping it open to touch the cold metal inside. Time moved painfully slow. Hunger gnawed at his empty stomach. His mother’s constant phone calls for updates and reassurance didn’t help. Nervousness made his chest hot with anxiety. 

“You gon’ be alright,” Rosalyn assured while adjusting his collar on one of her many trips around the backyard to adjust the tablescape. “Breathe. Won’t be too much longer.”

He thanked her for her kindness and prayed she was right. Or he prayed for the dream he’d written down on a random Tuesday in his creative writing journal to come true. He wasn’t sure anymore. But, when he opened his eyes and lifted his head to check that sliding glass door for the umpteenth time, there she stood amongst the Habersham women as they escorted the guest of honor arm in arm. 

Angelic was the only way he could describe her. Cosmically beautifully and capable of bringing the strongest man to his knees just by batting those long lashes. A toothy grin helped him bare each one of his teeth as he watched her saunter down the decorated pathway to the event tent with Imani in tow. 

“Happy Birthday to you,” the group sang once Ida and all her ladies had made it to the long communal table packed to the brim with food and decorations. 

They serenaded the woman responsible for much of their existence until their faces ached from the singing. She bobbed her head along to the song with a smile on her face then quieted their loud applause with a simple wave of her hand. 

“Ninety-five of those and you’d think I’d be used to it by now,” she laughed. “Thank you. Each of y’all are beautiful. Young and strong. Blood of my blood and I’m glad to have you here with me. Even the ones who just came along to spend some time with an old lady. I love you. Eat, drink, and dance ‘til you bust out your clothes. That’s alright with me! We got a lot to celebrate.”

Teary-eyed and full of gratitude, Patrice reunited with Terry at the dinner table as soon as she ensured her grandmother was comfortable. He worldlessly dabbed at her waterline with his thumb and kissed the top of her head. 

“You okay? Need to step inside for a second?” 

“No,” she answered, laughing at herself for her dramatics. “I’m just really happy. C’mon. Let’s eat.”

Eat, drink, and be merry had a whole new meaning under the soft, warm light wrapping variations of black skin in its embrace. Loud pockets of conversation and laughter made for a melodious cacophony of sounds while music played in the background. 

Patrice clung to Terry the entire time, always staying connected by a hand on his thigh or their fingers laced together beneath the table. Every once in a while, they’d break from separate conversations and catch each other’s eye and smile like schoolyard crushes sitting at the lunch table together. 

The romance in the air between them was palpable enough for Imani to pull out her phone and covertly shoot Terry a quick text. 

Dessert’s out. Do it now or they’re gonna start dancing. 

Now?

NOW!

Terry eyed Imani across the table. She urged him to do something with a sideways nod. He chewed his lip and fiddled with the box in his pocket. The music was starting to pick up as a few small children hit the dancefloor. Imani gave Rosalyn the signal to make a video call.

Now or never. 

He nervously clinked his knife against his wineglass and cleared his throat. 

“Nigga, you gone break it! That’s Big Mama good crystal.”

“Shut the hell up, Sir! You ain’t pay for none of this.” Rosalyn’s reprimand came with visual daggers sent to her baby brother at the far end of the table that only softened when she looked back at Terry. “Go ahead, sweetheart.” 

Terry stood to look at every confused face in the vicinity while he waited for one of the teenagers to turn the music down. 

“Sorry, y’all. I just had a few words to say. I won’t be before you long. In the real way, not the pastor way.” His attempt at a joke fell flat. Patrice tried to keep him motivated with a smile, but her eyes begged him for answers that he couldn’t provide. “Um, I know I’m the odd man out around here. Y’all have been incredibly kind and welcoming. I really appreciate it because you didn’t have to. Especially you, Ms. Ida. Happy Birthday, again. You look beautiful.” 

“Thank you, baby.” 

He nodded his appreciation and continued. “I also wanna thank Ms. Ida and everybody else who gave me permission to ask a question of somebody really important to me. Because I know being here with all of y’all is really important to her. Can you stand up for me, Treece?”

Patrice allowed Terry to help her to her feet before whispering through her teeth. “What are you doing?” 

“Something I’ve been wanting to do since I met you.” 

There wasn’t time for Patrice to process his statement. Terry slowly dropped to one knee, not caring about the dust below him. He kept his focus on her the entire time, even as quiet whispers turned into fervent murmurs. 

“When we were kids you told tell me that, if you ever got proposed to, you didn’t want a big speech or any of the stuff they did in movies. So, I promise not to do that. What I will do is tell you how much I love you. And I’ll do that today, tomorrow, and every day after that if you allow me the privilege of being your husband.” 

“Terrence,” Patrice huffed out as she tried to contain her mess of emotions. He reached up to grip her hand. "Don't make me cry in front of my people."

“Too late. Patrice, I’m askin’ you scared as hell in front of all these people, will you marry me?”

Everyone watched as Terry presented Patrice with an open ring box and a sparkling diamond illuminated by the small light tucked into the inside.

“I knew it,” Patrice whispered, losing the battle against the happy tears pouring from her waterline. 

“No, you didn’t, girl! We got you. Answer that man,” Imani hollered.

Her heartbeat pulsed in her ears. The cheering from her family began to muffle. Her body temperature skyrocketed. She felt faint. The people were waiting. What would she say? 

Just as reality began to slip away, Terry’s eyes looking back at her quieted the external and internal noise. 

Driven by pure love, Patrice met Terry in a squat and grabbed his face with both of her hands. 

“What you doing tomorrow?” 

“Hopefully saying a couple vows to this pretty girl I know from way back. I brought a tux with me just in case she wasn’t too busy.” 

“From way back, huh? I think I talked to her and she has a little time on her books.” She took another look at the ring before plucking it from its box and placing it on her left ring finger. She examined it for a bit then leaned forward to kiss her betrothed with enough passion to send the crowd into a frenzy. Pulling away, she smiled and wiped gloss from Terry’s lips. 

“Let’s do it. Let’s get married.”

----

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @onherereading @hrlzy @becauseimswagman1 @thiccc-c @urfavblackbimbo @blackburnbook @ashanti-notthesinger @xo-goldengirl

[blackwoolncrown]

Reading list for Afro-Herbalism:

A Healing Grove: African Tree Remedies and Rituals for the Body and Spirit by Stephanie Rose Bird

Affrilachia: Poems by Frank X Walker

African American Medicine in Washington, D.C.: Healing the Capital During the Civil War Era by Heather Butts

African American Midwifery in the South: Dialogues of Birth, Race, and Memory by Gertrude Jacinta Fraser

African American Slave Medicine: Herbal and Non-Herbal Treatments by Herbert Covey

African Ethnobotany in the Americas edited by Robert Voeks and John Rashford

Africanisms in the Gullah Dialect by Lorenzo Dow Turner

Africans and Native Americans: The Language of Race and the Evolution of Red-Black Peoples by Jack Forbes

African Medicine: A Complete Guide to Yoruba Healing Science and African Herbal Remedies by Dr. Tariq M. Sawandi, PhD

Afro-Vegan: Farm-Fresh, African, Caribbean, and Southern Flavors Remixed by Bryant Terry

Barracoon: The Story of the Last “Black Cargo” by Zora Neale Hurston

Big Mama’s Back in the Kitchen by Charlene Johnson

Big Mama’s Old Black Pot by Ethel Dixon

Black Belief: Folk Beliefs of Blacks in America and West Africa by Henry H. Mitchell

Black Diamonds, Vol. 1 No. 1 and Vol. 1 Nos. 2–3 edited by Edward J. Cabbell

Black Faces, White Spaces: Reimagining the Relationship of African Americans to the Great Outdoors by Carolyn Finney

Black Food Geographies: Race, Self-Reliance, and Food Access in Washington, D.C. by Ashanté M. Reese

Black Indian Slave Narratives edited by Patrick Minges

Black Magic: Religion and the African American Conjuring Tradition by Yvonne P. Chireau

Black Nature: Four Centuries of African American Nature Poetry edited by Camille T. Dungy

Blacks in Appalachia edited by William Turner and Edward J. Cabbell

Caribbean Vegan: Meat-Free, Egg-Free, Dairy-Free Authentic Island Cuisine for Every Occasion by Taymer Mason

Dreams of Africa in Alabama: The Slave Ship Clotilda and the Story of the Last Africans Brought to America by Sylviane Diouf

Faith, Health, and Healing in African American Life by Emilie Townes and Stephanie Y. Mitchem

Farming While Black: Soul Fire Farm’s Practical Guide to Liberation on the Land by Leah Penniman

Folk Wisdom and Mother Wit: John Lee – An African American Herbal Healer by John Lee and Arvilla Payne-Jackson

Four Seasons of Mojo: An Herbal Guide to Natural Living by Stephanie Rose Bird

Freedom Farmers: Agricultural Resistance and the Black Freedom Movement by Monica White

Fruits of the Harvest: Recipes to Celebrate Kwanzaa and Other Holidays by Eric Copage

George Washington Carver by Tonya Bolden

George Washington Carver: In His Own Words edited by Gary Kremer

God, Dr. Buzzard, and the Bolito Man: A Saltwater Geechee Talks About Life on Sapelo Island, Georgia by Cornelia Bailey

Gone Home: Race and Roots through Appalachia by Karida Brown

Ethno-Botany of the Black Americans by William Ed Grime

Gullah Cuisine: By Land and by Sea by Charlotte Jenkins and William Baldwin

Gullah Culture in America by Emory Shaw Campbell and Wilbur Cross

Gullah/Geechee: Africa’s Seeds in the Winds of the Diaspora-St. Helena’s Serenity by Queen Quet Marquetta Goodwine

High on the Hog: A Culinary Journey from Africa to America by Jessica Harris and Maya Angelou

Homecoming: The Story of African-American Farmers by Charlene Gilbert

Hoodoo Medicine: Gullah Herbal Remedies by Faith Mitchell

Jambalaya: The Natural Woman’s Book of Personal Charms and Practical Rituals by Luisah Teish

Just Medicine: A Cure for Racial Inequality in American Health Care by Dayna Bowen Matthew

Leaves of Green: A Handbook of Herbal Remedies by Maude E. Scott

Like a Weaving: References and Resources on Black Appalachians by Edward J. Cabbell

Listen to Me Good: The Story of an Alabama Midwife by Margaret Charles Smith and Linda Janet Holmes

Making Gullah: A History of Sapelo Islanders, Race, and the American Imagination by Melissa Cooper

Mandy’s Favorite Louisiana Recipes by Natalie V. Scott

Medical Apartheid: The Dark History of Medical Experimentation on Black Americans from Colonial Times to the Present by Harriet Washington

Mojo Workin’: The Old African American Hoodoo System by Katrina Hazzard-Donald

Motherwit: An Alabama Midwife’s Story by Onnie Lee Logan as told to Katherine Clark

My Bag Was Always Packed: The Life and Times of a Virginia Midwife by Claudine Curry Smith and Mildred Hopkins Baker Roberson

My Face Is Black Is True: Callie House and the Struggle for Ex-Slave Reparations by Mary Frances Berry

My Grandmother's Hands: Racialized Trauma and the Pathway to Mending Our Hearts and Bodies by Resmaa Menakem

On Her Own Ground: The Life and Times of Madam C.J. Walker by A'Lelia Bundles

Papa Jim’s Herbal Magic Workbook by Papa Jim

Places for the Spirit: Traditional African American Gardens by Vaughn Sills (Photographer), Hilton Als (Foreword), Lowry Pei (Introduction)

Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome by Dr. Joy DeGruy

Rooted in the Earth: Reclaiming the African American Environmental Heritage by Diane Glave

Rufus Estes’ Good Things to Eat: The First Cookbook by an African-American Chef by Rufus Estes

Secret Doctors: Ethnomedicine of African Americans by Wonda Fontenot

Sex, Sickness, and Slavery: Illness in the Antebellum South by Marli Weiner with Mayzie Hough

Slavery’s Exiles: The Story of the American Maroons by Sylviane Diouf

Soul Food: The Surprising Story of an American Cuisine, One Plate at a Time by Adrian Miller

Spirituality and the Black Helping Tradition in Social Work by Elmer P. Martin Jr. and Joanne Mitchell Martin

Sticks, Stones, Roots & Bones: Hoodoo, Mojo & Conjuring with Herbs by Stephanie Rose Bird

The African-American Heritage Cookbook: Traditional Recipes and Fond Remembrances from Alabama’s Renowned Tuskegee Institute by Carolyn Quick Tillery

The Black Family Reunion Cookbook (Recipes and Food Memories from the National Council of Negro Women) edited by Libby Clark

The Conjure Woman and Other Conjure Tales by Charles Chesnutt

The Home Place: Memoirs of a Colored Man’s Love Affair with Nature by J. Drew Lanham

The Jemima Code: Two Centuries of African American Cookbooks by Toni Tipton-Martin

The President’s Kitchen Cabinet: The Story of the African Americans Who Have Fed Our First Families, from the Washingtons to the Obamas by Adrian Miller

The Taste of Country Cooking: The 30th Anniversary Edition of a Great Classic Southern Cookbook by Edna Lewis

The Tuskegee Syphilis Study: An Insiders’ Account of the Shocking Medical Experiment Conducted by Government Doctors Against African American Men by Fred D. Gray

Trace: Memory, History, Race, and the American Landscape by Lauret E. Savoy

Vegan Soul Kitchen: Fresh, Healthy, and Creative African-American Cuisine by Bryant Terry

Vibration Cooking: Or, The Travel Notes of a Geechee Girl by Vertamae Smart-Grosvenor

Voodoo and Hoodoo: The Craft as Revealed by Traditional Practitioners by Jim Haskins

When Roots Die: Endangered Traditions on the Sea Islands by Patricia Jones-Jackson

Working Conjure: A Guide to Hoodoo Folk Magic by Hoodoo Sen Moise

Working the Roots: Over 400 Years of Traditional African American Healing by Michelle Lee

Wurkn Dem Rootz: Ancestral Hoodoo by Medicine Man

Zora Neale Hurston: Folklore, Memoirs, and Other Writings: Mules and Men, Tell My Horse, Dust Tracks on a Road, Selected Articles by Zora Neale Hurston

The Ways of Herbalism in the African World with Olatokunboh Obasi MSc, RH (webinar via The American Herbalists Guild)

[ptseti]

The Gullah people are descendants of African slaves who live primarily on the Sea Islands and coastal regions of South Carolina, Georgia, and parts of Florida and North Carolina. Brought to the region from West Africa in the 18th century for their agricultural expertise, especially in rice cultivation, they developed a unique culture influenced by their African heritage and isolation from the mainland due to the region's geography.

Their language, also called Gullah, is a Creole blend of English and various West African languages. It serves as both a functional means of communication and a cultural link to their African roots. Gullah culture is renowned for its vibrant traditions, including storytelling, spiritual practices, cuisine, and folk arts like basket weaving, which have been preserved over generations.

The Gullah culinary tradition—characterized by ingredients like rice, seafood, and okra—is a foundation of Southern soul food. Additionally, Gullah music, spirituals, and dance have significantly influenced broader African American culture.

Today, the Gullah/Geechee Cultural Heritage Corridor, established by Congress, protects and promotes Gullah heritage. Despite pressures from land development, the Gullah people continue to celebrate and preserve their history, representing a profound connection between African and American cultures.

[hoodreader]

these colonial borders do not exist. like at all. especially if you’re afro american. do you know how many of our ancestors got slipped between the islands and southern united states before our ancestors set down their roots wherever the last pit stop was? it’s trinidadians in panama. it’s african americans in guerrero mx. it’s haitians in louisiana.

i had ancestors getting tossed around trinidad, mississippi, and barbados (and undoubtedly, other countries along the caribbean/south american coast/american south coast) before they ended up in mississippi. but this is really just land… that’s all it is. rocks under our feet.

so how can u even say that this is where one ancestor stops and the other begins bc of ‘ethnicity’. they all blend into each other. they’re woven into who u are.

they were forced over the water, and igbo and esan became gullah geechee… then some became mississippi negro… others were mississippi creole… and some more became caribbean... but that doesn’t know any quantum or boundary.

people ask me all the time… “where are you from? ‘cuz you got an accent… and it’s hard to pinpoint. some words sound southern, some sound caribbean, some sound another way… it’s hard to tell.”

but i’m from nowhere but that deep part of myself.

[3rdeyeblaque]

This month in Hoodoo History: The Igbo Freedom Landing March

In May of 1803, 75 Igbo men & women chose freedom in death over a life of hell, spurring one of the largest mass suicides in the history of Maafa.

• In May 1803, a British slave ship called, The Wanderer, captured over a hundred Igbo men/women & other West Afrikan Peoples from present-day Nigeria and taken to Savannah, GA.

In Savannah, they were resold into Slavery to be worked to death on plantations along the Georgia coast. The price for each of their lives? $100. They were forcibly transported onto a ship called, the York that set sail for St. Simon's Island.

• During this voyage from Savannah to St. Simon's Island, 75 Igbo men & women rose up against their captors. They drowned the slavers, took control of the ship - grounding it in the Dunbar Creek.

At some point, the Igbo fled the ship. Led by their High Chief, a subset of the Igbo sang as they marched into a salt marsh of Dunbar Creek. One by one, they returned home in the face of a fate worse than death.

• This event that became known as, the Igbo Freedom Landing March, spawned enormous symbolism & folklore in the Afrikan Peoples and their descendants on this land. Many believe that the Freedom Landing and the nearby salt marshes in Dunbar Creek are haunted by the Spirits of the Igbo Peoples who drowned there. It is heralded as the first recorded Freedom March in U.S. history and has long since been a staple in Gullah-Geechee folklore, as the story of the Igbo Peoples who chose death over Slavery.

• Today, Igbo Landing is a nationally recognized historical site. It is located at Dunbar Creek on St. Simon's Island in Glynn County, GA.

• In September 2002, the Afrikan descendant community of St. Simon's Island, GA held a two-day commemoration of this event, including a procession to the salt marshes along Dunbar Creek where the mass suicide took place. They were represented by 75 Afrikan descendants across the country, Haiti, Brazil, & Nigeria. The attendees consecrated the site and did the collective work to elevate the restless Igbo spirits into healing and peaceful transition.

[konnorhasapen]

I HAD AN IDEA AND NOW I AM EXERCISING THAT IDEA

ASSIGNING EACH LISTENER AN EXOTIC PET AND ALSO NAMING THAT PET

I think this may have turned into an oc thing💀

°•°•°•°•°

Lasko's listener: I just established the other day that they own an axolotl named Cella (that Freelancer is hellbent on calling "Celery" and Huxley loves her ((the axolotl))sm) and this is canon to me now. They also have a Chinese water dragon named Lotus bc I said so :)

Freelancer: do rats count as an exotic pet?? (Google says they do-) They named her Gribby. This is also canon to me.

Angel: they 100% have a sugar glider named Goblin (and David is terrified of him.) They want a fennec fox and they will get a fennec fox and they will name her Deedee. Short for Speed Demon.

Baabe: snake. They own a snake and they named her Rory and Asher loves her to death.

Sweetheart: chameleon. His name is Karma and he and Aggro are besties to the max.

Darlin': a fucking raccoon. Or a badger. Either one named Cujo.

Lovely: they own a bat named Valentina.

Bright Eyes: also owns a rat, but they didn't him Remi. They couldn't remember the rat's actual name so instead they ended up naming him fuckin Ratatouille💀

Starlight: albino ferret albino ferret albino ferret and she's named Carina :)

Seer Obscura: literally owns a barn owl named Tiresias.

Cutie: they have a couple mice they named Allen and Atlas.

Honey: iguana named Geechee, but he also responds to the name Bee for some odd, unknown reason (*cough* Guy-)

Warden: snake. Burmese python. I feel like they would want to name her, but wouldnt know what to name her, so they'd settle for Mesii (to base it slightly off "burmese")

Mentor/Baby: four ferrets. Four ferrets that are specifically named Inky, Blinky, Pinky, and Clyde.

Smartass: they have a bearded dragon named Ivy and she vibes with Aaron.

Sunshine: they have chinchilla siblings named Nimbus and Nebula :3

Anton's listener: they have 2 tree frogs named Mika and Aivo, and a chinchilla named Seria (I like my chinchillas, okay?? I've always wanted one-)

James' listener: hedgehog named Morose and he's the cutest little baby James has ever laid his eyes on.

Asset: they found a mouse in the vents one time and they've kept it ever since. They named her Thias. They like to show Thias to Anton. Anton likes to see Thias(Thias reminds him of Seria). They have also introduced Thias to Brian. Brian also likes Thias. Most of the people working with/on Asset know Thias.

Precious: they aren't allowed to own a pet. Because owning a pet means giving their love and affection and attention to someone other than Regulus.

°•°•°•°•°

Bonus Bits!

Damien: ...Freelancer, I think you have rats.

FL: huh?? Oh, no, that's just Gribby.

Damien: *petting Gribby* who names a pet "Gribby"?

FL: I do. Oh- don't touch her left back leg.

Damien: why? Is she hurt?

FL: I got her checked out first few times it happened, but they said nothin' was wrong.

Damien: then why..?

FL: she just starts screaming.

Damien: what.

☆

David: Angel, I'm—

Goblin, who escaped his habitat: *zooms up the fridge and soars straight towards David, landing on his face and getting comfy on his head*

Angel: Goblin, where'd you go!? Oh! Aww! He loves you!

David: *frozen with fear*

☆

Sam: Darlin'?

Darlin': hm?

Sam: why's there a raccoon/badger on your kitchen counter?

Darlin': that's Cujo.

Sam: ...Cujo was-

Darlin': "mEhMeHmEhMeH cUjO wAs a dOg tHoUgH" let me name my trash panda/rage skunk whatever tf I want.

☆

Vincent: you got a pet bat?

Lovely: yeah! I wanted to name her Vincent as well, but then I thought you might get confused, so I went with Valentina instead! ^-^

Vincent: *teary-eyed* you wanted to name her after me??

Vincent: ...wait- you thought I'd get confused-

☆

Vincent: did you buy a rat?

Bright: I found it in the trash can and he's mine now.

Vincent: o..kay. Does he have a name?

Bright: um, duh. Anyone who owns a rat and doesn't name it Ratatouille is committing an actual crime against humanity.

Vincent: ...hold on.., wasn't the... wasnt the rat's name Remi?

Bright: ...

Vincent: ... I-

Bright: y'know what Vincent?

Vincent: wha-

Bright: shut the fuck up.

☆

Chat: you have a pet!??

Honey: yeah *fetches Geechee from his habitat* His name's Geechee

Chat: YOU HAVE A PET LIZARD!?!?

Honey: iguana*. Anyway, this is Geechee, but I've noticed he also responds to the name "Bee" and I have some speculations as to why that is.

Guy, in chat: I haven't the slightest clue what you could possibly be talking about.

☆

Baby: I found these poor little guys in a box thrown in a trash can.

Ollie: OHMYGOD CAN WE KEEP THEM? HAVE YOU NAMED THEM SO WE CAN KEEP THEM??

Baby: yes, we're keeping them and no, I haven't named them yet.

Ollie: ..suggestion?

Baby: I suppose.

Ollie, immediately: Inky Blinky Pinky and Clyde!

Baby: *sigh* goddamnit, those are gold.

Ollie: Inky Blinky Pinky and Clyde?

Baby: *nods* Inky Blinky Pinky and Clyde.

Ollie: YES!

☆

Asset: hi Marcus!

Marcus: jEsus chRIst- you scared me half to-...

Marcus: what do you have?

Asset: I found someone!

Marcus: you... found someone..?

Asset: *opens their hands to show a petite lil mousey* I've decided to name her.

Marcus: oh- y-yeah? And.. what did you...name her..?

Asset: Thias!

—

Asset: good evening, Anton.

Anton: good evening

Asset: Thias says hello, too!

Anton, with a tired but genuine smile: hello and good evening to you as well, Thias.

°•°•°•°•°

This was fun. I had much fun. This was so much fun :3

[ausetkmt]

Ga. islanders vow to keep fighting change favoring rich buyers

DARIEN, Ga. - Descendants of enslaved people living on a Georgia island vowed to keep fighting after county commissioners voted to double the maximum size of homes allowed in their tiny enclave.

Residents fear the move will accelerate the decline of one of the South’s few surviving Gullah-Geechee communities.

An aspect of the ordinance that residents take issue with is the fact that it erases a clause about protecting the island’s indigenous history.

During public meetings leading up to the vote, the zoning board proposed changes to the ordinance of lowering the newly allowed home size and removing talk of golf courses being added to the island.

Black residents of the Hogg Hummock community on Sapelo Island and their supporters packed a meeting of McIntosh County’s elected commissioners to oppose zoning changes that residents say favor wealthy buyers and will lead to tax increases that could pressure them to sell their land.

ISLAND’S HERITAGE

Gullah-Geechee communities like Hogg Hummock are scattered along the Southeast coast from North Carolina to Florida, where they have endured since their enslaved ancestors were freed by the Civil War. Scholars say these people long separated from the mainland retained much of their African heritage, from their unique dialect to skills and crafts such as cast-net fishing and weaving baskets.

Regardless, commissioners voted 3-2 to weaken zoning restrictions the county adopted nearly three decades ago with the stated intent to help Hogg Hummock’s 30 to 50 residents hold on to their land.

Yolanda Grovner, 54, of Atlanta said she has long planned to retire on land her father, an island native, owns in Hogg Hummock. She left the county courthouse Tuesday night wondering if that will ever happen.

“It’s going to be very, very difficult,” Grovner said. She added: “I think this is their way of pushing residents off the island.”

Hogg Hummock is one of just a few surviving communities in the South of people known as Gullah, or Geechee, in Georgia, whose ancestors worked island slave plantations.

MORE | Mom in Grovetown calls cops on U.S. energy secretary’s staff

Fights with the local government are nothing new to residents and landowners. Dozens successfully appealed staggering property tax hikes in 2012, and residents spent years fighting the county in federal court for basic services such as firefighting equipment and trash collection before county officials settled last year.

“We’re still fighting all the time,” said Maurice Bailey, a Hogg Hummock native whose mother, Cornelia Bailey, was a celebrated storyteller and one of Sapelo Island’s most prominent voices before her death in 2017. “They’re not going to stop. The people moving in don’t respect us as people. They love our food, they love our culture. But they don’t love us.”

Merden Hall, who asked not to be on camera, has lived on Sapelo his whole life. He says he’s worried about the sizes of homes now allowed on the island.

“I’m not comfortable with this. They approved the 3,000 square feet, that’s the only thing I disapprove of, because that’s going to raise property taxes,” he said.

Hogg Hummock’s population has been shrinking in recent decades, and some families have sold their land to outsiders who built vacation homes. New construction has caused tension over how large those homes can be.

Commissioners on Tuesday raised the maximum size of a home in Hogg Hummock to 3,000 square feet of total enclosed space. The previous limit was 1,400 square feet of heated and air-conditioned space.

Commissioner Davis Poole, who supported loosening the size restriction, said it would allow “a modest home enabling a whole family to stay under one roof.”

“The commissioners are not out to destroy the Gullah-Geechee culture or erase the history of Sapelo,” Poole said. “We’re not out to make more money for the county.”

Commission Chairman David Stevens, who said he’s been visiting Sapelo Island since the 1980s, blamed Hogg Hummock’s changing landscape on native owners who sold their land.

“I don’t need anybody to lecture me on the culture of Sapelo Island,” Stevens said, adding: “If you don’t want these outsiders, if you don’t want these new homes being built ... don’t sell your land.”

County officials have argued that size restrictions based on heated and cooled spaced proved impossible to enforce. County attorney Adam Poppell said more than a dozen homes in Hogg Hummock appeared to violate the limits, and in some cases homeowners refused to open their doors to inspectors.

Hogg Hummock landowner Richard Banks equated that to the county letting lawbreakers make the rules.

“If everybody wants to exceed the speed limit, should we increase the speed limits for all the speeders?” Banks said.

Hogg Hummock residents said they were blindsided when the county unveiled its proposed zoning changes on Aug. 16. Commissioners in July had approved sweeping zoning changes throughout McIntosh County, but had left Hogg Hummock alone.

Commissioner Roger Lotson, the only Black member of the county commission, voted against the changes and warned his colleagues that he fears they will end up back in court for rushing them.

Two attorneys from the Southern Poverty Law Center sat in the front row. Attorney Anjana Joshi said they had “due process and equal protection concerns” about the way the zoning ordinance was amended.

“In our view, this was not done correctly,” said Joshi, who added: “We’re just getting started.”

Located about 60 miles south of Savannah, Sapelo Island remains separated from the mainland and reachable only by boat. Since 1976, the state of Georgia has owned most of its 30 square miles of largely unspoiled wilderness. Hogg Hummock, also known as Hog Hammock, sits on less than a square mile.

Hogg Hummock earned a place in 1996 on the National Register of Historic Places, the official list of the United States’ treasured historic sites. But for protections to preserve the community, residents depend on the local government in McIntosh County, where 65% of the 11,100 residents are white.

[harrelltut]

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[androgynealienfemme]

I’m sorry but this is soooo fucking funny. You are American. Tu eres un americano blanquito. What are YOU doing to resist your states violence? Why aren’t YOU blowing up military personnel or the pipelines being built on indigenous land? Where is your direct action regarding Hawai’i or Puerto Rico? What have you done to support the Gullah Geechee people in the Carolina’s and Georgia who’s land rights are being removed? Or is it that you think you aren’t REALLY a descendant of settler colonialists like the Israelis?

And I want to be clear, this post isn’t about not supporting the Palestinian struggle (May Palestinians be free in our lifetime), this post is about how absolutely irritating the hypocrisy of white Christian descendant Americans are when it comes to colonialism. It’s so easy to point your fingers at some other community across the world you see as colonialists and go “LEAVE LEAVE YOU ARE WORTHY OF NO SYMPATHY WHEN VIOLENCE IS DONE AGAINST YOU AND ALSO WHY ARENT YOU FIGHTING HARDER” while sitting in your own home, your own colonial state, and doing absolutely NOTHING of what you expect the others to do. You are a hypocrite. You are not helping. You are not an activist, you’re only doing this to feed your own ego and to appease your inner guilt about the fact that you yourself are a colonialist descendant continuing to profit off of the colonial state your ancestors helped build. You aren’t actually helping Palestinians. And you are not actually doing anything to end the colonialism occurring on your own soil. Worse than useless.

[blackwoolncrown]

The other really aggravating thing about the reception of that AC post and the way ppl are space jam reaching OVER the valid critiques to reduce it to eco fascism…

Is that the reason I posted it as a focus on central AC’s relationship to capitalism was that at the same time I was posting about the desecration of southern environments.

An example that kicked it off was someone from the Gullah Geechee coastal preservation project talking about how originally no one wanted to be on the swampy, marshy coasts, so the Gullah folks could just live their lives.

Then, when AC came, white landowners came. White tourists came. Capitalism came and rushed to turn marsh into real estate, wrecking the biome.

And that’s the history of the fucking south!! Whiten people wanted very little to do with it aside from slavery which was no better. Then AC came and made it palatable! They considered it wild and hostile and miserable which was just fine for the Natives but once AC came it was reason to *exponentially* expand white real estate at the cost of environmental damage and displacement of Native and Indigenous people.

Because to turn marsh and swamp into real estate requires clearing land, draining water etc.

And NOW as the earth responds to all the various forms of bullshit, swampy places like FL and NY are threatening to sink every time a storm comes.

Bc they’re supposed to be HOT SWAMPS and they still would have been!

And again, I get that this is an uncomfortable truth and I’m not suggesting anyone suffer at this point but just pointing out how capitalism and colonialism have backed us into environmental corners:

A non-zero amount of abled but otherwise heat intolerant people in historically hot parts of the US are only here bc of AC bc they come from much cooler parts of Europe. This land was *never* comfortable for your lineage and you still haven’t adjusted and now it may be too late. But to accommodate Europeans we invented central AC and it actually sucks a lot.

There’s a reason there’s fewer heat deaths per capita in considerably hotter countries than in the US.

And that just is what it is.