It has been about ten years since I have been attending our local observance of the Maafa at the Seawall Bandstand in Georgetown. The Maafa (Black Holocaust) is celebrated every October 12th. A Kiswahili term, Maafa means ‘terrible occurrence’ or ‘great disaster.’ The Trans-Atlantic slave trade epitomises terrible occurrence and great disaster. Our history reveals that we humans have always had barbaric qualities and the world as it exists today has not been shaped by every continent uniting, breaking bread together and singing “Kumbaya.” We have never wholly stood together. We have fought for the survival of our kinsfolk; our phenotypic traits have divided us and created a false narrative that some are superior to others. The world rests on blood, sweat and tears and those who died during the Middle Passage represent a significant number of those sacrifices.
Some may see the drums beating by the ocean, the folks garbed in various patterns and colours walking on the sand and then brown water massaging their feet as strange. We place floral tributes and food in the water while reflecting on those whose names we do not know and whose bones are buried in the ocean; and if one acknowledges the spirit world, thinking that they exist in the wind, blowing across the ocean infinitely. Their energies remain in the tides we would imagine; the waves rushing against our feet connects us to them. We are reminded that as long as we are remembered after our time on Earth has expired, we never really die.