The Tribune

EDITOR, The Tribune.

Our African traditions are often celebrated for the oral aspects of passing information down from one generation to another. Some might be inclined to generalise African people and African culture as a monolith, without very important distinctions. Without getting into an exposition on the wide variety of African societies, I will simply draw attention to the documented vast and exceptional libraries of Timbuktu. Timbuktu is not some fabled place in folklore. Timbuktu is an actual place (in Mali) where relics of ancient manuscripts may still be found today. I say all that to say this: some parts of Africa had and have magnificent oral traditions (griots of West Africa, for example). Other parts of Africa (including Egypt and Ethiopia, for example) had and have a long history of written language and literacy.

Here, in The Bahamas, we may benefit from both our oral and written African traditions. Sadly, in my opinion, in today’s Bahamas we appear to be wanting in both aspects of such cultural traditions. When last have you seen or heard “ol’ stories” being shared, especially with younger generations? When you take an objective look at our high school “leavers”, do you see a mostly functionally literate cohort? We may defensively point to any number of factors which may have brought us to this place where too many Bahamians are at today, but the bottom line to me is that we are steadily going from bad to worse. Expect no finger pointing from me, nor any participation in a blame game. Instead, my effort here is but to drop yet another very small pebble into that pool of Bahamian cultural disconnect, and see if any ripples go anywhere.

What follows is unabashedly subjective and personal. In a very recent conversation, I recounted how absolutely fantastic a few women in our neighbourhood, during my childhood days, still impress me with their phenomenal ingenuity, determination, industriousness and resilience. Their achievements, against all odds, remain unsung songs of heroism and inspiration. My dear mother was certainly among these uncelebrated heroines who continue to amaze me, upon reflection, with their varied stellar accomplishments. And, while I would now like to sing their praise songs as loudly as I can, these little anecdotes here represent little more than a barely audible hum. Therefore, to all the eyes that see these few words, and all the ears that may hear about them, here’s my wish. I wish that you take some small time and break that Bahamian cycle of not sharing and continuing that African tradition of passing on the values and virtues of our ancestors; mothers, fathers and foreparents.

In very brief and capsulated form, I will point out that my mother gave birth to eight children, but the fact is that she had many more children. There was always room in her heart and home, or room was made... Also, in those days, such conveniences as washing machines were a mere fantasy. Washing clothes by hand, on a scrubboard, was the order of the day. One tub for washing, another for rinsing was convenient, but not always the case. Hanging clothes on the lines naturally followed. In most instances, this routine would be a daily necessity. Clothes would be one thing, sheets, other bedding items and diapers would be another thing. With a house full of children (some bound to have “accidents” at night) just keeping up with the laundry would seem like a full-time job in itself.

Preparing breakfast, dinner and supper, along with sandwiches for “brown bag” lunch, would have been another task which now seem to defy modern economic theories in as much as stretching a meager weekly grocery budget. Besides that, in our household, there would always be extra mouths to feed. Fortunately, my mother was an excellent dressmaker/seamstress, so in addition to making clothing for us, she earned a “little something” by making clothes for other people, from time to time. Many times, she received partial payments, and sometimes she received no payments. No matter how I try nowadays to figure out how she managed to successfully maintain our household, despite the struggles and difficulties, it still baffles and amazes me.

There is much omission of details in relating how my mother would so often make a way out of no way, but my effort here is to merely pass on some of the incredible efforts by this selfless and extremely altruistic woman. She was one among the other women who impress me as having walked that walk at that time. For sure, a lot of walking was done at that time. Cars and jitneys were relatively few on the landscape, so context is very important in appreciating the ordeals which had to be overcome in those “good ol’ days”.

My mother rode a bicycle from Grants Town to San Souci - out east - as a matter of course, to do housework for a rather wealthy, white Bahamian family. That was, of course, in the days after all of her children were old enough to be left unattended for short periods of time. It was not an everyday job, and the hours may have allowed for us to be sent off to school, then sometimes get back home just before or after she returned from work. Whatever the exact particulars, I am absolutely confident that it took extraordinary powers to make all the pieces fit into a daily routine which is largely unspoken of and uncelebrated, even by some of those beneficiaries. Could it be that songs unsung are also unremembered?

African traditions, Bahamian traditions, family traditions or personal reflections, whichever ways we may be able to tell more of our stories (before they all just fade away), appear to be at a critical nexus. I believe that my generation owes it as a debt to past generations, as well as future generations, to pass the values of our histories on... in oral and written (even modern electronic) formats. Otherwise, so much will be continually lost to that dash between our birth dates and dates of death, when others review our obituaries or tombstones. How many glorious songs will be left unsung?

MB

Nassau,

October 17, 2023