On Discovering My African Roots                               by Jimmie (2005) My cultural book is named All God's Children Need Traveling Shoes by Maya Angelou. I completed this book on July 4th and found it quite fascinating. First of all, I realized that it was a continuation of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Ms. Angelou (previously read with my sixth graders) but not the next chapter in her life story. I presently have that book, Gather Together in My Name to fill in that blank spot between the two books. I chose this book because the author was suggested to me, and now I find myself reading more and reading more of her books. This book started off with Maya and her then college son in West Africa, Ghana to be precise. It seems that the two had been traveling extensively since Guy finished high school in Cairo, Egypt. I am assuming the other book will clarify how and why she was in Africa. For two wonderful days, Maya and Guy enjoyed each others company. But that third day, Guy was injured in an automobile accident caused by a drunk driver. During this horrifying and difficult experience, Black Americans and especially the Ghanaians took her in as one of their own. These encounters Maya had with the Ghanaians showed some similarities to my family's culture and traditions. It showed me that even though I am far away from Africa and very far down the lineage, the African culture is something that is in the genes, in me since I was born. Efua Sutherland reminds me of the older women in my family. She comforted Maya when Guy was in the hospital with his injuries. She let Maya know that even though she was in a foreign land  she was not far from her family. Ms Angelou stated: Efua put her hand on my cheek and repeated, "Sister, you have need of a Sister friend because you need to weep, and you need someone to watch you while you weep." Her gestures and voice were mesmerizing. I began to cry. She stroked my face for a minute then returned to her chair. She began speaking to Julian about other matters. I continued crying and was embarrassed when I cou/dn't stop the tears. Maya relates this to her childhood back in Stamps, Arkansas. Her Grandmother would watch her as she cried. My Mother's family did that when my Dad was dying in the hospital. They watched us as the emotions were loosed and we knew that the end was very near. When you refer to a woman or a man as "Auntie" or "Uncle", I always thought it was because of being related either through blood or marriage. In the novel, it is a sign of respect and unity. Efua introduced Maya to her children as "Auntie Maya". Maya referred to Otu, the steward as "Uncle". When she visited Nana, a tribal chief, she tells his children to address her as "Auntie Maya" or "Ms. Angelou". The small boy that works for her and his family calls her "Auntie". This still goes on today. My Grandma tells her young grandchildren and great- grandchildren to address her older grandchildren as "Auntie" and "Uncle".       Maya took in a small boy, named Kojo who wanted to be her errand boy even though she did not see the need for him. She saw about him by assisting him with his school work and visiting the school to check his progress. In return, his well-to-do family visited her and brought food and gifts to thank her for being so kind and gracious to their Kojo. And they planned to do this every month. Black Americans do this today, especially the Southern ones. I had an aunt who I found out in later years was not my Dad's blood sister. My Grandma took her in and raised her as her own. We have extended families where the parents can no longer care for the children, and Grandma or an Aunt or an Uncle will have to step in to keep the family together. Big, joyous family reunions are planned in celebration of family/unity. If you lived next door, you came. If you were a brother's wife's cousin twice removed, you came. It didn't matter. We were all connected deep down the line. Neighbors during my Mother's era disciplined a child and no legal actions would be taken against the neighbor. In fact, the child would receive additional discipline when he/she returned home (African proverb: It takes a village to raise a child). Most Black Americans have gotten away from that due to child abuse/neglect  laws.      Even though Maya (a dancer, actress and writer) did not really have a "traditional"trade," she was hired for jobs she was not exactly qualified for. Due to her goodness being heard around Ghana, she wrote for the Ghanaian Times. She was hired as an administrative assistant at a University and couldn't really type. She was invited to all sorts of elegant affairs and galas. She was also wined and dined by Sheikhali whose whole intent was to marry her. She turned him down even after he bought her a refrigerator. My Dad's family was "good people" as the old folks tell me. My Grandma would feed you until you popped. She was so kind and loving as my relatives tell me that it rubbed off on my Dad. He would give you the shirt off his back if you needed more than him. Every year, my Dad would plant this huge garden, and I would wonder why needed this much? I mean he would plant rows and rows of vegetables, strawberries and fruit trees. He nearly plowed the entire property in a field. We planted from after that last cold snap in March all the way up until late October or November. He raised pigs and had the nerve to raise five at one time! That was a lot of work! And in the end, he would give a large portion away to family, friends or strangers at work.  Yes, we had ours stored away in the deep freezer or in the smokehouse, but we shared what we had prospered (what we are commanded to according to I Corinthians 16:1-2). And because of that, people were willing to put their trust in his children. Being his daughter and especially having his namesake, I firmly believe doors  of opportunity have been opened up for me. The part of the book that really impressed me was near the end. Maya was invited to accompany Nana Nketsia and his two oldest daughters to the Togo border. She had realized that she had not seen Eastern Ghana. Mr. Adadevo escorted Maya, Nana's daughters and his daughter back to Accra but first they were going to visit Keta, Mr.Adadevo's village. While there, Maya encountered a Ewe woman who insisted that Maya was someone she knew. Mr. Adadevo intervened and showed the woman a driver's license. He explained to her that Maya was an "American Negro". The Ewe woman's mood changed and she began to mourn. Maya had noticed that the woman had features like her Grandma in Stamps, Arkansas. What was happening was Maya may have found her roots. The Ewe woman and the other vendors would look at her and would mourn because they knew that Maya was a descendant of their tribe. Mr. Adadevo tried to tell their story:        During the slavery period Keta was a good sized village. It was  the slave trade. Very hard In fact, at one point every inhabitant was either killed or taken. The only escapees were children who ran away and hid in the bush. Many of them watched from their places as their parents were beaten and put into chains. They saw the slaves set fire to the village. They saw mothers and fathers take infants by their feet and bash their heads against tree trunks rather than see them sold into slavery. What they saw they remembered and all that they remembered they told over and over.        The children were taken in by nearby villagers and grew to maturity. They married and had children and rebuilt Keta. They told the tale to their offsprings. These women are the descendants of those children. They have heard the stories often, and the deeds are still as fresh as if they happened during their lifetimes. And you, Sister, you look so much like them, even the tone of your voice is like theirs. They are sure you are descended from those stolen mothers and fathers. That is why they mourn. Not for you but for their lost people. Maya has accomplished something the rest of us have yet to discover, our roots. Yes, we are descendants of Africa but specifically where? Maya  found that even though it was many years later, she still held the characteristics of her people. Her people recognized her after many years of pain, toil, grief and sorrow for the ones who were taken from Keta village. The ending of Ms. Angelou's book was a reflection of the people she had met as she headed  back to the United States to assist Malcolm X in organizing OAAU. But this paragraph really made sense, and we should realize that we are strong people with long and deep roots: Although separated from our languages, our families and customs, we had dared to continue to live. We had crossed the unknowable oceans in chains and had written its mystery into "Deep River, my home is over Jordan." Through the centuries of despair and dislocation, we had been creative because we faced down death by daring to hope.