Here is a piece I wrote for my school's newsletter. Enjoy :)
I spent my elementary years drawing over my homework, reading outside books about Greek goddesses and mermaids, and then talking to my friends about them in class all day long. I would show my friends “Look! This is the Goddess of Loveeeeeeee, Aphrodite. Isn’t she perfect?” But when class ended, I would close my mouth shut all the way till we got home. My parents would ask me “So how was school?” I wondered what if I told the truth and said it was horrible. Instead I said “good” and closed my eyes to try to recreate my mermaid escapism until I got home. Theories like the Bermuda Triangle were always enticing. The constant thoughts of disappearing. I never wanted to go back to school.
All I ever wanted is to be open, curious, and explorative just like the mermaids in my books. Instead of Western Civilization they learned about spells, swim tricks, and the deep mystical history of the sea. I read series after series, watching these mermaids blossom into adult mermaids- taking on Queen leadership of the sea. My 8 year old life was nothing like that, and that was depressing. I was jealous, yet obsessed on how they were able to go outside in their backyards and find treasure as they had the ability to manifest different worlds with the power of imagination. They were all white girls. And I was a city Black girl with opossums and raccoons in my backyard. At night there were gunshots or maybe a tire popping. Either or, the fear made me stop everything I was doing and surrender my head to the closeness of the ground. When I stepped in water, there was no turquoise fish tail that rescued me from reality. And I hated water for that.
I got scolded for being distracted in class every day, even in high school. I beat myself in the head for truly never connecting with my work. It took college to realize that I could never attempt to connect to Abraham Lincoln, before ever learning about Sojourner Truth. Page after page, no one ever looked like me. There was no citing of magic.
When I started to write my own short novels in class, my teacher confiscated my work and told me I was being disruptive, and to focus.
My 8 year old self needed narratives and truths. My 8 year old self needed to know Black girls possessed magic too just like the mermaids in my novels. I wish she knew about the Orisha Goddess like Oya and Mami Wata spirits of Africa. But now I am 20 years old and I could not think of a better age to embrace such truths. The truth is there was nothing wrong with my rebellion against what I was learning in elementary. Studying African and Black Diaspora Studies was always apart of God’s plan and I am proud of myself for never being satisfied with what my teachers told or taught me. The depth of who I was destined to be was always fighting with the Eurocentric pedagogy forced down my eyes and ears. And the pain, confusion, and lack was necessary in order to be glorious in this moment. Now, I can liberate my 8 year old self as my adult self has been placed in the hands of the Wise. And yes I still oppressive teachers, but I no longer feel sad or unmagical, but challenged.
The Black Women professors I have met at DePaul have truly become the fairy godmothers of my future. Like the blossoming characters I use to read and dream about, but they look like me and have conquered everything that I once thought was an impossible task for a Black girl. My freshman year I witnessed the Black woman magic of knowledge when I met Doctor Robin Mitchell in WGS 100. In her class I found healing, and honestly a new beginning, feminism. Everything is a social construction. There were Black women narratives, but institutionalized racism, sexism, and classism benefits from hiding those things from me. Then, I met Doctor Valerie Johnson who exposed me to the realities of African American politics, but pushed me with her wisdom to go outside and do something about injustice. She also taught me the importance of self care and preservation after my choice of protest. I had to be in my best mindset before I could take on anything that dismantled systems of evil. Doctor Julie Moody-Freeman liberated me when she assured me that no theoretical work in academia is off limits, and you have to find pleasure in the hard work you do. The realities of Black women lives are violent, but we are still here. Because of our magic. And our magical narratives have touched every corner of the Earth, and with the help of another we can all bare our mystical lost treasures. (Click to tweet!)
