who tells are story?
The story of our roots and memories are defined by our elders but what happens when the matriarch and patriarch transcend? Our roots cannot be seen if our stories start to be forgotten. How do we live in a new society and hold on the culture of before?
The only way to hold on to our stories is by retelling. For many of us, our family’s homes and churches are miles away. We leave the home we knew to seek better opportunities and to advance in this evolving world, but we unknowingly leave behind the story of the life before us.
The sharecroppers and laborers arriving from Virginia, creating a new life for the families in Alabama, they begin to fade. The only thing left of them is a lone outhouse and the family church. Faded photos and stolen mementos carry a tune that’s not clearly heard. Memories of them are sparse, only the living matriarch and patriarch hold. If only our ancestors' records were respected and not tarnished by oppressors, we would have answers. A closer feel to our culture that was once vibrant.
We visit the family church, close our eyes and imagine our ancestors gathered together to hear the words of the pastor. Feeling so close to them, being in the same room that once held their lives. We imagine the attire, the glances, the voices of the archive and visually see where the archive rest underneath a concrete slab, gathered for the last time.
It’s breathtaking, in a sickening way. Life continues without many. Thrives without the ones who deserve it the most. Decades of the archives exist and continue to resist. A story forgotten but always repeated. The eternal torch has passed from hand to hand, writing the life that is to come but with a story untold. Who’s telling their story? How will it unfold? Glory to the mahogany tribe. May the mahogany archive inspire you to walk and to contrive.
