The BSD Vanguard (Fall 2020)

The Black Student Union Presents...

The Black Solidarity Day Vanguard Black Migrations

2020-2021 Eboard

President

Vice President

Treasurer

Educational Coordinator

Historian

Political Correspondent

Publications coordinator

Public Relations

Secretary

SA Representative

Social-cultural coordinator

Senior advisor

...Alexis Anderson ...Kendra gourgue ...jenna johnson ...Elizabeth Plantin ...Jocelynn labossiere ...krista hall ...Ajahee Sekkm-miles ...Tyler shepherd ...Alana morse ...Calista Bryant ...Amielle Gibson ...Aaron Adams

This Vanguard is dedicated to our ancestors. Those who were stolen and forced to survive. Those who fled to remain alive.

We thank you for your resilience, for if it was not for you, our futures would be unattainable.

JoceLynn Labossiere

“Immigration” It is the way in which my grandmother touched American soil, How she chose to take hold of “the American dream”.

It's the airplane that she flew in on, It’s the friend that met her in JFK. My grandmother’s first bite Of the Big Apple, Her first time in New York City.

Marie Clerge, a petite woman with a lot of determination in her heart, Grabbed hold of the American facade And made it into her Haitian dream.

So it is with the courage that she mustered up to journey here, That I keep pushing forward, Breaking boundaries and generational curses.

Trying to create my own American dream, So my children can do so too and there’s so and so forth.

I doubt Marie realized the revolution that she set in motion.

Because the son that she raised created a daughter unlike any other.

One that wields power and grace in the same hand.

One who will bring greatness to the family name.

  Ginikachi K. Anyene nomads home i lifted one finger put it down abuja slid it across shed a tear lagos i traveled across countries an ocean and terrains to be here i am a nomad i am a nomad i have no home to my mother country that is being shredded to pieces shot down like animal guts police rincing all sense of humanity from a country that my parents call their own someone help us help the people i call my family as i ponder as a nomad looking into the window of a distant home i am crying for help they are dying for help i am a nomad i am a nomad i have no home to a country where 50 stars

leaves me starstruck by more care for a walking orange than a human breathing by traveling to a school and having to learn the rules as an african american nigerian american black american womxn this will never be my home i am a nomad i am a nomad i have no home traveling queen i don’t know about y’all but i hate HATE to travel actually love wait nah definitely hate mmm maybe love maybe i’m just scared of the unknown packing for a beautiful new home and having to unpackage all the anxiety, happiness, and love i know all too well i LOVED queens for the year i was there i also loved how long island plainview and freeport made me feel don’t even get me started for my love of north carolina something about that breeze that breeze that blew me back up to new york kicked me to the curb of nassau county pushed me up to walden and left me tongue twisted in montgomery new york

where am I how is the air so crisp why do i feel a sense of hatred from people i’ve never met am i an outsider Probably

When we move By elle When we move they say that our movements are trespassing.

We trespass into territories, And settle in homes that were not made for us.

When they move they are just exploring Because they have no reason to leave their homes.

So they are simply just traveling and looking for beauty elsewhere.

And when there exploring forces us to move into their homes, They blame us.

Yet they forget to acknowledge how there exploring is more like Invading And how our move is more like fleeing In search of asylum, In search of freedom, In search of elsewhere.

But when we move we are trespassing And when they move they are just exploring And we must not forget the difference.

Because to forget the difference Means to forget our place And we must never forget that “we do not belong here” “We are not meant to be here” “This is not our home” They love to remind us But where is home?

Ask them.

And they will sit there, mouths agape

Trying to pinpoint where we should go And then you feel bad How hard it must be for them to find a place for displaced people When you have been doing this for so long The arrows start to jumble And become one So when we are searching for this elsewhere And the temporary bliss it seems to bring Remember that trespassing Is only illegal If you get caught.

Qua-SHE-ba

by Taleea Tomlinson

Sweat beads run down her forehead To join the rest of the water Her hand grasps onto her mother’s hand Like two hydrogen bonds onto oxygen “Breath in and out, relax your legs, and push hard”, says her doula She does this many times, over and over The family gathers around to welcome a newborn baby into the world “That baby looks just like their 2nd- great grandma Quasheba”, exclaims great Auntie Yolanda “What type of name is Quasheba?” says young Jack Great Uncle Nick replies, “O boy that's an ol’ slave name from way back n the day” One Aunt protests,“ Oh naww, plssss don't get him started” “Here this Nigga go ‘gain” mumbles another uncle Great Uncle Nick exclaims, “ See that's what's wrong with you young kids nowadays, yall don’t cherish yo family stories” “Let me tell y'all the story of your 4th- great-grandma, Quasheba”, says Great Uncle Nick Great uncle Nick begins his story...

Your 2nd- great grandma was named after her 2nd great-grandma, Quasheba.

Quasheba’s mother came from the Gulf of Guinea on a ship called B ​ onaventure The boats were dirty. There were 300, 400, 500 Afrikan peoples at a time.

All of them people crammed together.

Lord, even misery was miserable There was likkle food, likkle water, likkle air, but a whole lotta misery The enslaved on the ship had a long journey ahead of them They stayed on that boat for a lil over half a year One night, the ocean was real rough Oya and Yemaya were fighting again The waves were high and the lighting was something fierce Quasheba’s mother felt water run down her leg and sharp labour pains The other woman on the ship knew that they had to act quick “Breath in and out, relax your legs, and push hard”, says her friend She does this many times over and over The baby is born and a pact is made amongst the woman Quashebas mother struggles up to the deck for some air She closes her eyes and she breathes out a big wind of relief She leans over the dock and her body descends in the air With her last breath, she was filled with peace and she was finally at rest The woman that helped Quasheba’s mother, decided to keep the baby as their own.

Days and weeks go by and they finally reached familiar-looking land What they thought was the Gold Coast was an island called Jamaica The woman worked on the cane fields by day and raised Quasheba at night During the day, the younger kids would watch over Quasheba And during her breaks, one of the enslaved that lost her child would breastfeed Quasheba Young Quasheba lived on that island for seven years She was taking care of the babies while the adults worked the fields She would assist in cooking and cleaning By the time Queasheba was 12 she had already built up some trades She could work the fields, sew, cook, and clean

And at night she was a mean dancer Likkle after she turned 13, Quasheba had heard a rumor Master was about to sell some of his slaves because the plantation was good She feared being sent to another place away from her family But Quasheba was no stranger to loss At this age, she has already seen many adults, elderly, and children die from disease and being overworked Soon enough she was sent off to Haiti to work on a tobacco plantation She set off onto another ship….

She hadn't remembered ever being on a boat before The water brought her an eerie peace A peace she could not explain, but a peace familiar Once she got to Haiti she was shocked For the tongues of the enslaved was different from hers She was often confused and lost No one to translate and everyone was impatient with her Quasheba worked those fields for 4 years The field was much different from the suga fields in Jamaica These fields were wet, mosquitos everywhere The air humid, and the stench of death was all around her People often died of malaria on them fields Quasheba never got sick, so she would help the community After all those years Quasheba was getting used to the labor and the language Quasheba had started a lil family of her own Her husband was a man from the Bight of Benin that spoke a creole soft but defiant Quasheba could not have children, so they took in a young orphaned child as their own Their child was seven during Haiti’s rainy season Sickness was som’n bad during this season and they lost their first son a few years later Due to the rise in deaths, the plantation owner sent an order in from France He wanted

to sell 30 skilled enslaved people to a tradesman to get some quick cash Quasheba was one of the 30 slaves picked Quasheba found herself on another ship Quasheba had lost the love of her life, her family, and her friends again Quasheba was devastated and depressed While on the ship dock Quasheba would look out onto the water The same eerie peace would settle over her It both scared her and inspired her to carry on The boat landed on a Louisiana port in New Orleans They walked to the nearest slave auction She was startled by black people rubbed in animal fats Standing naked with chains around their necks, hands, and feet A fear hit Quasheba that covered her from head to toe She was left speechless and numb For she was about to be exposed to the eyes of people unknown One by one the enslaved on Quasheba’s boat was stripped and rubbed with oil Soon it would be Quashebas turn.

Quasheba stood on the podium She was prodded and poked During the auction she tried to vocalize her skills, in hope of not having to work the fields Despite them knowing Louisiana creole, they could not understand her Haitian creole They considered her speech nonsense and dismissed her.

Due to them not knowing her trades, and her appearance She was sold cheap to a small cotton plantation off River Road By now Quasheba is in her early 20’s She is no longer publicly seen as a she, due to the circumstances at the auction block Her master considered her expressions and dress, “not of the bible” Quasheba’s name changed to Kudjo

Quasheba laid low in order to prevent violence from her master, her slave driver, and her fellow slaves.

Quasheba suffered from loneliness and isolation And despite her many attempts to escape fieldwork Quasheba still ended up in the cotton fields This was different from the tobacco fields The tobacco fields was wet The cotton fields were dry On the tobacco fields, people died from malaria On the cotton fields, people died from heat exhaustion You could finish your days work if you met your quota on the tobacco fields But on the cotton fields, you worked from sun up to sundown.

No exceptions The sun had risen and fell three thousand six hundred and 50 times By now it had been 5 years and Quasheba was in her mid 20’s Even though she had lived longer than the slaves she knew back on the islands Quasheba was at her lowest of lows and considered going to the promised land early Expressing her femininity was the one part of her that she owned She felt alone with only eyes as her company She was watched and observed but never seen On that same plantation was a woman named Polly Ann. The slaves on the plantation always said, “Polly Ann a strong oman, she na look afta no man.”

Polly Ann spotted Quasheba as soon as she got on that plantation She didn't approach Quasheba, only watched She watched Quasheba patterns so often that she noticed Quasheba looked off recently Quasheba looked like a gubby who naw haunt inna long time.

One day Polly Ann invited Quasheba to a jig that was happening on Sunday night In hopes of cheering her up because Quasheba always looked alone Quasheba said, “ Mi legs a hurt me, and mi back too tired fe dance.”

Polly Ann said, “ You ain't gotta dance, besides i'll keep ya legs safe.” “Ain't no rhythm gon get to yo legs messin around wit me”

Quasheba caught herself laughing and accepted the invite Quasheba was quite fond of Polly Ann Polly Ann was a charming woman, like honey on biscuits and sugar in tea.

Quasheba found herself saying yes to many of Polly Ann’s wild proposals Polly Ann and Quasheba snuck off to see each other almost every Sunday In private Polly Ann would never call her Kudjo she only used her real name, Quasheba They’d trade clothes with one another to wear in private They’d cry together They’d sing together They’d dance together They’d even play around like they was likkle pickney This lasted many years By now your 4th- great-grandma was around 30 years old Quasheba and Polly Ann decided to plan an escape off river road to free land down in New Orleans This took two years to accomplish.

By their 3rd attempt, they had made it They stayed with a friend who had escaped that same plantation a few years back After all those years Quasheba never forgot her trades Quasheba got a part job sewing for the other freed colored woman She was locally known for her variously styled tignons and dresses Eventually, Quasheba and Polly Ann saved enough money to buy a small piece of land and set up shop Quasheba, got Polly Ann pregnant and they started their new family together This new life started to make Quasheba feel whole again There’s a picture in my house of Quasheba wearing a tignon, holding her and Polly’s baby.

That baby is your Great great great Grandmother.

And that's the story of yalls 4th- great Grandma, Quasheba.

She lived in 3 countries Worked on 3 different types of plantations Lived in 2 different bodies Gained freedom

And found the love of her life.

Says Aunty Pat intercepts, “You done now?! The story done lasted from sun up to sun down!”

Ignoring his Niece, Great Uncle Nick Continues...

I just want to wrap up with this.

When they tell you black people neva travel Remember your Grandma Sheba lived in 3 different countries When they tell you black people can't speak properly Remember that your Grandma Sheba learned and spoke 4 different tongues Patwa, Haitian creole, Louisiana creole, and English.

Lastly.

When they tell you, you ain't got no history or culture as an African American Remember your history intertwines with different peoples from Africa, Europe, and Turtle Island Remember your history is defined by the movement of the African Diaspora... It's the movement through time and space and land and ocean that makes our experience so unique Great Uncle Nick leaves the room by saying, “Now that you know yourselves a little better, go ahead and name that newborn baby Quasheba. Imma go take this nap, I done worn myself out.”

The mothers, of the newborn, looked at each other and laughed They named the baby Sage Quasheba Williams And the family was pleased.

Nike Onanuga “Join the flock” ~ Lyrics

Verse 1: You know, full well, my status as a boa Don’t act surprised when I inject my venom.

They wishing well overflows Because we’re all numb.

I can’t help mind my mouth ‘Cause it houses my fox tongue.

Chorus: Bait embellished boardwalk My history ain’t yours to mock.

I’m not upset that’s just how i talk Please tell the seagulls I wanna join the flock.

Verse 2: Washed up on shore in the form of old driftwood Was once part of a fence Now protecting my childhood.

I’m not so sure I Lived a life of good.

When I’m called home, I promise I’ll put in a good word.

Tumbleweed Artist Statement: With the central idea of migration and movement within the black community, I wrote both these pieces in the past 2 weeks as a homage to the mental migration I'm traversing and to honor the migrations of my parents and their predecessors. “Tumbleweed”, which I wrote two days before I filmed the video, was birthed by means of kinetic writing and the restlessness of writer’s block. Once I had the “finished” product, I decided that my subconscious was telling me about the journey I went through concerning identity and pride. Likewise, the lyrics of “Join the Flock” hint at the embarkment of my journey with identity and collective healing with those around me. I owe so much of the inspiration for these to the member of Vanguard who opened my mind and my eyes to illustrating common thoughts and feelings by means of an art medium.

Editor: Ajahee Sekkm-Miles Vanguard Participants: Ginikachi K. Anyene JoceLynn Labossiere Nike Onanuga Marielle Joseph Taleea Tomlinson

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