Sankofa. It means to go back.
To give thanks and praises to the Creator, regardless of the name in which we call Him/Her.
To remember our ancestors, we know not by name, and their ultimate sacrifice.
To remember our recent ancestors, and the wisdom their lives left behind.
To reflect on where we have been, to be clearer on where we are headed. This is my personal diary of the last decade of experiences with attending Sankofa: The Caravan to the Ancestors, hosted by the Houston Chapter of the National Black United Front….and how these experiences changed my life.
The intent of this is not only to inspire all who have attended a Sankofa: Caravan to the Ancestors to share their their stories, but to bring an artistic and literary perspective to the history of this ceremony. The art of storytelling has long been a part of ancestral tradition.
2013’s diary expresses the power of stepping out on faith, and having to use the warrior within to get to the water.
Hear the audio version of these diaries infused with old skool music and other mystic teachings on 222.9 The Mothership Internet Radio, and read the written part of this diary on www.poeticallymused.org/echoesoflegacy.
Pataki. Oni mi Ojo Abameta, Owara Merinlelogun, Odun Egbawa Metala
Merindilogbon ojo Ogba Ooru.
Translate: Diary. Today is Saturday, October 24th, 2013, 26 days into Autumn Equinox.
The day vibrated on a 4, a day of infinite possibilities.
The Moon was full in the 2nd house of Taurus.
It was a 6 year, ideal for establishing material values.
I returned to Sankofa for the 16th annual. It theme was “Honoring Late Activists,” a ceremonial libation for Baba Seydou N’Joya, Baba Jitu Weusi, and former Black Panther Sister Ayanna Ade.
It was a trying year for me, and I yearned to see the water all year. From month 3 to month 9, I lived in a halfway house…all praises be to Esu. It was there where I did a lot of healing, a bit of a vacation from life. My home of two years was taken from me, and all I thought was love dissovled in lies before my eyes. 10-14 hour shifts I was waiting tables, in constant prayer, advising those who would come to me for help. As I was putting my life back together, I began to see my ancestors turning my broken pieces into a beautiful mosaic. My divinatory repitoire was getting stronger, but Esu had a few more tests.
Right at a month before the Sankofa, I moved from the halfway house to a white house in Third Ward. This wasn’t my plan, but I knew better than to swim against the spiritual tides. Many in the community embraced me like a long lost relative, which came as a surprise to me, granted I was there without being someone’s other half.
The night before Sankofa, I worked late…very late. I was starting to think it was part of the ritual to get no sleep at all the night before caravan. I returned to absolute Hell in my house, perhaps a price I was paying for trying to help the same person who dogged me to the core. The always turning the other cheek shit was getting old, and the divine justice of African Spirituality was feeling more and more natural. We argued literally all night long. What about? This Knee-grow had the nerve to try to tell me that I wasn’t going to Caravan because of his personal issues, completely disregarding the fact that I had been planning to be there all year. I was NOT having it. By the time the sun came up, I was exhausted and disoriented from all the arguing, and I was not ready to go when the group I initially planned to ride with came. The Hell in my house went outside and said something to the elder that was driving. I never found out exactly what was said, I just saw the van back out of my driveway and head down the street. Everything in me wanted to go after them. I wanted to call and ask them to come back…but I didn’t want to involve other people in my drama. The funny thing was, this was drama I could have avoided had I been a bit more selfish. Esu’s lesson on protecting my energy. As the van pulled down the street, I felt this heavy feeling in my heart that sank to my stomach. Was I really going to ignore my ancestors after they had been calling me to the water all year? Hell…infatically….no.
The hell in my house thought he won, but he had another thing coming. His glee was short lived when I went to my bathroom, washed my face, and began putting on my makeup. I tuned out his trash talk, and took a long, hard, stare in the mirror. My expression of sadness shifted into that something else I was allowing myself to get used to. I dressed in my whites, took the tips I earned the night before, and called a cab. I didn’t care about the cost. I told the Hell in my house that I was going with or without him. If he stayed behind, he could not stay in my house while I was gone…so he got his butt in the cab.
The cab ride from my house to Galveston costed $100. I felt the pinch, but was money well spent. I felt all of the tension and ugliness lift off of me when I saw the waters of Yemonja, and felt Oya’s breeze. The sky looked photoshopped, and the drums took over my feet and hips. It was so much needed, granted that I’d missed Sankofa the year before and this year was so taxing. It was great so see many faces I hadn’t seen since 2011’s Sankofa…like a family reunion of sorts. I made all of the offerings and prayers I’d planned to, and I allowed myself so savor the victory of coming to Spirit when they called. I also noticed that it was attending Sankofa where I began to connect with and bond with spiritual family members, people I would stay connected to for years to come. One of them was a special lady named Valerie, and we walked down the beach talking like we’d known each other for years. The ancestors must’ve been so pleased that they opened the way for a photo op! It was she who captured some of my favorite and most iconic images to date.
Time would later reveal just how deeply our destinies would be connected in the ancient ways.
We caught a ride back to Houston with Marcell and his wife, Sassafrass. She and I spent most of the ride back exchanging laughter between sinister jokes…memories I’ll cherish forever.
That following Monday, I returned to work per usual. I had a table of 2 guests that only ran up a $47 tab. They left a $100 tip and a note that said “God bless you!” I love the ancestors!
Ase in Love,
iiiYansaje T. Muse
