Years ago, on Emancipation Day, an elder called me in London from Cameroon and greeted me with song.
“First of August come again hurrah me ginga/jinga”.
Years later, I heard the song at local Emancipation activities.
For some time, I began to sing “Oh Ra me ginga/ jinga.”
Ra, deity of the sun of ancient Kemet, today known as Egypt. Without the sun, there would be no life on Earth, so for many years I have thought that there is wisdom in worshipping the sun.
That elder, now an ancestor, forever imprinted that song in my mind even though I have never taken the time to figure out the meaning of the latter part or even if I was singing the words correctly. It is perhaps an inheritance from my ancestors, who were enslaved and lost their languages. The elder who sang to me on the phone was a Guyanese who had migrated to Cameroon when she married a Cameroonian. Every Emancipation Day, I think about her and the joy in her voice that day. The love was felt across continents.
This Emancipation Day I spent time at the National Park, where I helped with the activities. I thought about the meaning of freedom.
Freedom is the power to exercise choice. Freedom is the power to make decisions. Freedom is self-determination. Freedom is independence. Freedom is existing without constraint; the mind, body and spirit are liberated; the constraints created by society are prisons you challenge and avoid.
Throughout our lives, the definitions of what freedom means to us can change based on where we are in our journey to enlightenment. For some, freedom never progresses pass the possibilities. Self-saboteurs often fear greatness; whether they are conscious of it or not. Feelings of inadequacy or inferiority leave them simply existing, settling for just enough and even less. Even the rich can be self-saboteurs. Their possessions can become the prisons they hope can free them from the torment inside. They believe that they are not deserving of what they have.
For some, freedom is interrupted when they are made prisoners by justice or injustice; but even they can be liberated in the mind and spirit if they choose to. Walls may restrain one’s movement, but they do not have to do the same to one’s mind and spirit.
What does freedom mean for me as a Guyanese woman? Are the systems in place to foster my development as a woman enough? How does patriarchy affect my freedoms even when I am strong and unafraid to challenge the status quo?
As a Guyanese woman of African descent, I have fought for freedom all my life. From recognizing very early that society’s view of me was that I was less than. From believing this. From seeing my image in mirrors as a teen, looking at my features, knowing within that I was made beautiful; society’s attempt to keep me imprisoned and demean me because of the colour of my skin kept trying to force its way. I searched for a way out. Through affirmations, through the pages that told me a different story of who I was; authors like Cheikh Anta Diop and Yosef Ben Jochannan were two of my first teachers and set me on the path to becoming liberated. And then it was finding the courage to escape the prisons of religiosity.
As a Guyanese woman, proud of my African ancestry, I have long escaped those early prisons, disproved society’s ideas of my beauty and broken out of the box of religiosity.
As a Guyanese woman, yes there may be some constraints, challenges, but the systems in place to foster our development are ours to own. We are thinkers, we are leaders, we are professionals, we are in business, on our backs we carry this nation, raising children, and shaping the future. The constraints that do exist however may hinder some of us. Many Guyanese women are not free because they have been conditioned to think that they must walk behind instead of side by side or even take the lead. Many are not free because their idea of being means finding the answers in some invisible hope for some life after this. Many are not free because they were taught that their value is in the attractiveness of their faces, the length and texture of their hair and the curves of their bodies. Many are not free because they love and accept all the faults that come with that love. Their self-sabotage may also leave them vulnerable to hands across their faces, punches about their bodies, guns and knives to assault their bodies, and often death.
At the end of Emancipation Day, as I walked in the dark, I was not thinking about my ancestors, who were told they were free in 1834 but served an additional four years of apprenticeship. I was not thinking about the wonderful rhythms of the drums. I was not thinking about the booths and the food there was or the entertainment in music, song, dance and poetry. I was thinking about steps to growing in my purpose. I was thinking about how fortunate I am to be living my life as a creative.
I also thought of the hate I have witnessed in recent times because of our political climate. A fight that may not see an end for a long time I thought.
I hummed the song of Aunty Patty, the Guyanese-Cameroonian, as other questions about freedom began to enter my mind. I continued to think about the disciples of division who continue to spew hate to divide us, to imprison us so they can control us. I also thought about the freedom of those who roam the streets, who rest their heads wherever the dusk finds them. Their freedom is a kind many of us can never imagine.
I thought about the walls we spend many of our days looking at in our homes, offices or religious institutions and how sometimes they can slowly imprison us without us even realizing it. We must make time to escape and enjoy nature and its many offerings. We must be open to opening our minds. I thought of going near the ocean, watching the waves and the feeling of peace that brings with the cool of the wind.
The voice on the phone, the voice in the wind, the voice in the dark. “First of August come again…”Freedom come again.
