if you clicked through the links in last week’s new sabbath, you likely happened upon an article about Netflix’s recent docu-series, High on the Hog: African-American Cuisine Transformed America. when my family and I gathered in Washington, DC for my brother’s graduation last weekend, the series kept coming up. it seemed like everyone in my family had either heard of it, or had already started watching it. it became my Memorial Day mission to begin watching the series. three episodes in, i’m spellbound.
each and every episode unearths some historic place, figure, or event, and tells its narrative through the lens of food. beautiful food. so beautiful that it makes my mouth salivate and i begin to imagine what the food could possibly taste like. this especially surprised me on the episode about Gullah culinary culture in South Carolina. Chef BJ Denis prepared a Whole Hog Roast, a process that began with the construction of an outdoor pit by hand. many hours later when the hog was finished, it was so tender that the community pulled the pork apart with their forks and hands as they served themselves. i don’t even eat pork and all i thought was, that looks delicious. what can i say? we eat with our eyes first!
on this same episode, a young woman name Gabrielle Etienne shared her story of leaving New York to come home to North Carolina, to preserve the culinary history and culture of her community. watching her story was an extremely impactful experience for me, as a young womanist theologian who is deeply interested in notions of lineage and inheritance, and who has an abiding sense of familial connection and identity. i resonated with her desire to connect the story of her family to a wider story of people, place, and history. i resonated with her love for food, community, and fellowship.
in one scene, which i won’t soon forget, she is hosting a lovely, intimate meal at a communal table with just a few people, including the series host, Stephen Satterfield. while eating, her Uncle Andrew stopped by to quickly drop off a gallon of homemade wine. instantly, she becomes heart-full from his gesture of kindness. she begins to weep, as she describes the situation of forced removal and land grabbing that her uncle was enduring at the time. this wasn’t just a kind thing to do. this was a profound act of self-sacrifice, blessing, and most poignantly, love. in the midst of his own trauma and heaviness, he came to her dinner, just to bring their homemade wine. in this gesture, he blessed her dinner, her guests, and her work to preserve the culture. this was special wine, and his niece was most worthy of it.
i was overwhelmed by two thoughts. first, i was struck by the continued similarities between Black Americans and the people of Palestine. land grabbing, forced evictions, and displacement as continued functions of white supremacy. the cruelty of “eminent domain,” the vulnerability of the physical ties between Black people and the lands upon we build our lives and our homes. in so many communities of color, land ownership is a value that has long represented freedom. it has represented a sense of place, belonging and rootedness in a precarious and hateful world in which our ancestors were freely snatched, freely herded, freely shipped, and freely dispersed into enslavement. during the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade, our ancestors were stolen from our native lands and made into a place-less people. through enslavement, we were forced to make our places, our homes, and communities all over the world. over time, we became a global people, and Blackness became a global phenomenon. i’m no historian or geographer, but I will always revel in what it means to be displaced in a “strange land.” what it means to have no place to go “home” to. what it means to not really know where i’m from from. in theological terms, we might call this exile. we might call it the wilderness. but even in these terms, the precarious possibility of being “kicked out” of one’s place, whether by eminent domain, taxation and gentrification is a violent and bewildering condition for life.
my second thought was on inheritance, to use Gabrielle’s language. the things that we receive through the transmission of our elders and ancestors. in the context on the documentary, she discussed food, including recipes, culinary techniques, farming, and sharing as the inheritance that she felt called to protect and to share.
i’ve often thought of what it means to be a millennial Black woman preacher, and the significance my place in this point of our story as Black woman-preachers. i’ve read the books about the women who’ve come before me in ministry, activism, and even as previous Deans of Chapel at Spelman. for all intents and purpose, we’re still on the front end of this entire movement of Black women in ministry. moreover, i’ve often thought about what it means to be Theo and Della’s daughter. what it means to be Vivian, Alvin Sr., and Alice’s granddaughter. what it means to be an inheritor of multiple legacies. to live and work in multiple lineages. and now, Sharif, Ty, Sloan and Henry’s aunt.
i’m starting to think through concepts of lineage and inheritance. even as a champion creating my own story and legacy, i’m drawn to the idea that even these are anchored in a broader narrative of Black women who’ve done had the audacity to insist upon themselves. i feel compelled to grab a hold of the material that has been transmitted down through my family’s bloodlines, because i want to save as much of our story as i can. write it down. capture it some kind of way. save it for my children (as much as i pray for healthy children, i really want daughters.).
herein begins the thread.