I walked quickly across the perfectly manicured
grass at Long Beach State University. I passed the drama department doing
theatre exercises outside. Passed a group of Asian students in a deep
conversation about something. There were African-American students gearing up
for a protest against police brutality and a group of white women and men in a
debate about women’s rights. I love the diversity of the students and faculty
at this school. I flew up two flights of camel colored stairs to my English
class and waited for Professor Cheatham to hand out the break assignment. This
is my first year of college and I’ve been taking it in like a sponge. Storing every
assignment as opportunity to expand my world. I don’t even mind that we have
homework during spring break. Each week it is something else to keep me on my
creative toes. I got to class and stared at the assumed privilege of the other
students. The fancy clothes and expensive cars. Trips home every vacation. The
assumed privilege. I love Professor Cheatham. She reminds me of the women from
home with her round bottom and thin dresses. Chocolate skin and big legs. And
every now and then after a great big laugh, the music comes out in her tongue.
Home. The assignment was…home. We had to
create a project describing the communities we come from. Already I have
ideas. I can’t decide yet if it will be a video or written project. Professor
Cheatham is open to however we want to do it. I’m going to focus on the women
of my home.
Home for me is less than forty miles away but it seems much
farther. I live in a part of Los Angeles that many people don’t know about.
Most of the people where I live either come from the south or their parents
did. I live in a really small section of a very big town. We don’t venture out
much though. Our world is divided into two small parts we call The Jungle and
The Village. Mostly we just interact with each other. Our parents and grandparents
came from the same towns together. I’m from The Village.
This assignment could not have come at a better time. Lately I sit in my dorm room at night and stare out of the window. Remembering. The trees. The lovin’. The language. The women in The Village.
My name is Phoebe Sunday Morning Waters but most folks call me Sunny. I have lived most of my life in The Village. All of my life until I went to college. If it was left completely up to me I would have continued school right there in The Village at Harriet Tubman College behind The Joint where the drums, jazz and poetry never stopped, but Daddy wouldn’t have it. Mama and Daddy divorced when I was only four months old and I lived with my Daddy. They both raised me ‘cause Mama lived less than six miles away in The Jungle. Daddy made sure I did well in school and Mama made sure I kept writing poetry and painting and playing chess. She taught me how to play chess. She said I was born writing poetry. They both said I would go away to college and see the whole world someday. I have always done well in school and could have gone somewhere out of state but I wanted to stay close enough to home for now. I’ll have plenty of time to see the whole world. But the whole world oughta know The Village is what I always felt.
I didn’t know how magical it was until I left. I spent nights in my dorm room laughing over and over at things that were normal at home that would be so strange to the rest of the world. I’m so sorry for the children who don’t have The Village. When my schoolmates and I are having lunch sometimes I entertain them with a story or two. They think I’m making most of them up. None of them have ever heard of The Village. I catch the bus home often to see my favorite cousin Michelle who I keep trying to get to visit me here. “Leave for what?” She always says. I get it. I really do. The drama of real life is more real there than anywhere. And I don’t have to go everywhere to know that.
From the outside looking in it is easy for one to believe that we are not progressive, that we are ignorant and stale. Nothing could be further from the truth. That’s what’s so funny, you know? Watching the faces of folks who could never understand why we do what we do, speak how we speak, love how we love. Like Michelle, who had her first baby when we were seventeen. She named him Thomas Jones Pride, Jr. the first. See, Michelle and Thomas had been going together since the ninth grade at Bishop Tolliver’s Junior High School, and he pinky blood promised her that they would get married and stay married forever. She believed him. Maybe he believed him too at the time. She got pregnant and just three months after that Sharita Bailey with the big breast and long hair got pregnant too. Turns out he told her that they would get married and live happily ever after too. Michelle and Sharita never got along very well and this just added salt to a fresh cut. Michelle still wanted Thomas and of course Sharita did too. You would think that there was some shortage of men in The Village but folks want what and who they want you know? At the same time they both found out that they were having boys and Michelle’s baby was due first so of course hers would be da da dadaaaa!!! Thomas Jones Pride Junior the first! And Sharita’s boy was just plain ole Thomas Pride Jr. (poor Sharita.) See, we love the way we love.
They come from everywhere and ended up here. They aint goin' nowhere. Ain’t nowhere to go. Ain’t nothin’ to get. These women in The Village are being. Don’t concern yourself with time and space. Don’t be fooled by the lazy tongue. Don’t you confuse grammar and wisdom. They ain’t nothin’ to do with one the nother. These women, they know the secret. This is The Village that raised me.
This assignment could not have come at a better time. Lately I sit in my dorm room at night and stare out of the window. Remembering. The trees. The lovin’. The language. The women in The Village.
My name is Phoebe Sunday Morning Waters but most folks call me Sunny. I have lived most of my life in The Village. All of my life until I went to college. If it was left completely up to me I would have continued school right there in The Village at Harriet Tubman College behind The Joint where the drums, jazz and poetry never stopped, but Daddy wouldn’t have it. Mama and Daddy divorced when I was only four months old and I lived with my Daddy. They both raised me ‘cause Mama lived less than six miles away in The Jungle. Daddy made sure I did well in school and Mama made sure I kept writing poetry and painting and playing chess. She taught me how to play chess. She said I was born writing poetry. They both said I would go away to college and see the whole world someday. I have always done well in school and could have gone somewhere out of state but I wanted to stay close enough to home for now. I’ll have plenty of time to see the whole world. But the whole world oughta know The Village is what I always felt.
I didn’t know how magical it was until I left. I spent nights in my dorm room laughing over and over at things that were normal at home that would be so strange to the rest of the world. I’m so sorry for the children who don’t have The Village. When my schoolmates and I are having lunch sometimes I entertain them with a story or two. They think I’m making most of them up. None of them have ever heard of The Village. I catch the bus home often to see my favorite cousin Michelle who I keep trying to get to visit me here. “Leave for what?” She always says. I get it. I really do. The drama of real life is more real there than anywhere. And I don’t have to go everywhere to know that.
From the outside looking in it is easy for one to believe that we are not progressive, that we are ignorant and stale. Nothing could be further from the truth. That’s what’s so funny, you know? Watching the faces of folks who could never understand why we do what we do, speak how we speak, love how we love. Like Michelle, who had her first baby when we were seventeen. She named him Thomas Jones Pride, Jr. the first. See, Michelle and Thomas had been going together since the ninth grade at Bishop Tolliver’s Junior High School, and he pinky blood promised her that they would get married and stay married forever. She believed him. Maybe he believed him too at the time. She got pregnant and just three months after that Sharita Bailey with the big breast and long hair got pregnant too. Turns out he told her that they would get married and live happily ever after too. Michelle and Sharita never got along very well and this just added salt to a fresh cut. Michelle still wanted Thomas and of course Sharita did too. You would think that there was some shortage of men in The Village but folks want what and who they want you know? At the same time they both found out that they were having boys and Michelle’s baby was due first so of course hers would be da da dadaaaa!!! Thomas Jones Pride Junior the first! And Sharita’s boy was just plain ole Thomas Pride Jr. (poor Sharita.) See, we love the way we love.
They come from everywhere and ended up here. They aint goin' nowhere. Ain’t nowhere to go. Ain’t nothin’ to get. These women in The Village are being. Don’t concern yourself with time and space. Don’t be fooled by the lazy tongue. Don’t you confuse grammar and wisdom. They ain’t nothin’ to do with one the nother. These women, they know the secret. This is The Village that raised me.
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