For Mrs. Catherine C. Blackwell: Childhood Memories and Mourning Loved Ones
Yesterday I woke up to the news that my beloved next door neighbor (in Detroit, my mothers home), Mrs. Catherine C. Blackwell, passed away.
Mrs. Blackwell lived to the north of our house. She was the only neighbor whose house was visible to us, because the other neighbors were separated by fences that are over six-feet tall.
As a little-girl I was infatuated with Mrs. Blackwell for more reasons than I can recount here.
First, she had a parrot named Akua that mimicked everything that she heard. During the summer Akua lived on Mrs. Blackwell’s summer porch on the top floor of her house. As a result, Akua could hear and see everything that went on in our backyard, year in and year out. My mother hated this parrot for the most hilarious reason: every time my mom would walk into the backyard Akua would start screaming “hey big mama!!” Where this came from, I have absolutely no idea, but without fail Akua would yell “hey big mama!” my mother would mutter under her breathe, and my sister and I would giggle as softly as little girls can (which is to say, not softly at all).
Second, Mrs. Blackwell traveled the world! Every year she would take groups of children to various parts of Africa, on tours all over the continent. When she came back she always had plenty of gifts for my sister and I, as well as plenty of stories. Every summer Mrs. Blackwell would tell me that when I was a “big girl,” she would take me on one of her trips to Africa. Every time, I would squeal with delight, and imagine the mountains I would climb like the spirits in the Virginia Hamilton books I loved so much.
Third, when she wasn’t traveling Mrs. Blackwell was a professional story-teller. My little black girl self was utterly amazed that this beautiful, stately black women made her living traveling the world, teaching kids and telling stories! Who knew that was actually a thing?! In between imagining my future as a New York magazine editor, a veterinarian, and a professional horse-back rider, I quietly nursed dreams of wearing beautiful robes, and telling stories to little brown-girls like myself, just like Mrs. Blackwell did.
Growing up, I loved reading more than I loved anything else in the world. So in my mind, living next to Mrs. Blackwell was better than living next door to a movie-star. She had a school named after her, and had been to places I’d only seen in my dreams and in picture books. She was one of those adults that made you feel like the most special child on the planet. When I was speaking to Mrs. Blackwell, I knew I could accomplish anything in the world. After all, if she could tell stories and travel the world, why couldn’t I live my dreams to?
Today, my adult-self is mourning the loss of a woman who made contributions to young black people in Detroit that cannot begin to be fully understood. But today, my little brown-girl self is also celebrating what she taught me about allowing your dreams to be as big as possible. I was so lucky to grow up with women like Mrs. Blackwell in my life. Women who taught me everything I needed to know about the pride that comes with being a black woman, and the adventures that were to be had as my life moved forward.
Thank you Mrs. Blackwell (ibaye) for everything you were, and continue to be to our community. I wish you peace, love and light, as you move into this next part of your journey.
My condolences to the Blackwell family and all of her loved ones.
love.
a
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rq_BzQR-Aig]
*update* 02/04/14: Detroit Free Press: “Catherine Blackwell: Advocate and Teacher of African Culture in Detroit”
Alex Moffett-Bateau / Prof MB (she/they) holds a PhD in political science from the University of Chicago and BA in political science + African American Studies from the University of Michigan. She is an assistant professor of political science at the City University of New York. Their research and writing focus on extra-systemic and subversive politics. Her manuscript in progress argues, in order to accurately understand the political engagement of Black women living in poverty, a fundamental expansion and redefinition of what is considered, “political” is needed. Prof MB is a public speaker, consultant, and podcaster. She is a political knowledge worker whose focus is on Black feminist + disability justice political education. Prof MB is originally from Detroit and now makes her home in New York City.
on becoming big momma
you are right dear peachie: that bird was the bane of my existence.
akua was our harbinger of summer, she didn’t appear until the temperarure was warm enough for her to stay on the summer porch. she was a stately bird; an african gray parrot that mrs. blackwell brought back from her many travels to africa. akua was her baby.
akua’s favorite summer past time was sitting on her perch and screaming insults to the neighbors. (dr. blackwell had taught her many curse words, and she always seemed to know how to put them in the proper context). I remember one time she actually cursed at a man, and he thinking that he was being assaulted by a person, invited akua to come down and say those words to his face. i heard all this commotion going on in front of the driveway, and i went running to see what was going on. imagine his surprise when i told him that it was a bird. to this day we laugh about that and he still remembers his encounter with akua the character.
when akua “very loudly” started to refer to me as “big momma,” i just wasn’t ready for the title. i didn’t know if she was calling me fat, or implying that i was old. either way that big momma business just didn’t cut it with me. i know it sounds crazy but i was embarassed by what that “stupid” bird saw in me, that made her call me “big momma.” after all, she knew everyone else’s proper name: peachie, courtney, granddaddy, julio, lauren, allison, mrs. lucas, even our dog flower…. why me, why was i big momma? what if anyone else heard her calling me that?
at first i thought it was a fluke, but as it continued, i became so troubled that i remember mentioning it to mrs. blackwell thinking that she could some how get her to stop. she chuckled knowingly saying that one of her exchange students from africa gave her that title long ago, calling her big momma, and bird (akua) must have remembered.
over the years and on the occasion of catherine’s passing i have come to accept it as the compliment that it is.
love,
mommy (aka big momma)
What a wonderful and enriching post. Thank you.