What a treat! I knew that I couldn’t leave D.C. without visiting this national treasure. I made the decision to forgo conference activities today and visit the museum because, based off this governments disdain for Black EVERYTHING, who knows what the future holds for this prolific monumental time capsule containing our rich and unreputable history—past, present, and forever.
 
I reserved myself guided tour for 2pm. Arriving by Uber, I walked to the front door and made my way in the exhibit. The security guard asked me if I was a cancer and that he peeped my crab tattoo. I said yes, stating that my birthday was yesterday. He told me that his birthday was in a few days. I swear, I have never meet so many cancers in one year. 
 
Upon entry, I headed to the welcome desk where I received a map and a quick overview of the exhibit. I took the elevator down and saw that there were quite a few people participating in this one-of-a-kind experience. As I entered the first exhibit “Slavery and Freedom 1400 -1877”, I breathed deeply and let my senses carry me through. This section covered “15th -19th Centuries: The Making of the Atlantic World.” The images and artifacts are exceptional, and the narration, lighting, and the text allows for a comprehensive educational experience. 
 
We saw images, slave logs, shackles, cotton, and sugar plantation scenes. “The Middle Passage”, is probably one of the most discussed and/or taught element of Black/African history. And it was dark—even this section of the exhibit was visually very dark. 
 
I listened to a mother explain “The Slave Trade” to her Black children and answer their questions—they were all girls and had a British accent.
 
As I made my way around to the “Defending Freedom, Defining Freedom: The Era of Segregation 1876 -1968, I observed a White man wearing a Tupac T-shirt. 
 
I was captivated by the sculpture of Haitian Revolutionary Toussaint Louverture. 
 
The instillation titled “A Nation Divided” gave me pause because here we are experiencing the exact atrocities that our ancestors literally lost their lives over—the systemic oppression, dissolution of human and civil rights, and kidnappings. 
 
Images of abolitionists and civil rights leaders Harriet Tubman, Sojourner Truth, Fredrick Douglas, William Lloyd Garrison, Susan B. Anthony, were both bold and poignant.
 
Moving along to the “Changing America: 1968 and Beyond” with a focus on “Women and the Movement” was personally a fulfilling moment for me. Black feminism, Caribbean feminism, bruk out feminism, ghetto feminism, and hip-hop feminism form the crux of my dissertation research so, naturally I was/would be drawn to this. 
While in this section, I was interviewed by a group of students (college) about my experience at the museum, what my favorite section was, what was the most interesting section, and what I thought about Trump’s executive order which attempts to close this exhibit. Oh, I had time today baby!
 
I shared my connection to the exhibit as a Caribbean American and dancer and scholar whose work focuses on African Diaspora dance, music, and aesthetics. I mentioned why it was important for me to see the museum now and that what this president is doing is blasphemous and an abomination. Black history is American history and African history is everyone’s history. Our culture and contributions are planted not only in the US but globally and to erase that is shameful. I mentioned that there were quite a few non melanated people attending the exhibited—and I wanted to know how they were affected by what they saw and heard and what were they going to do and say about this crime of erasure. Now that they have seen and experienced Black brilliance for themselves, what were they going to do—NOW?
 
I wanted to check out the gift shop before I continued the second half of the tour—I also didn’t want to run out of time. The store had really wonderful culturally specific items such as books, jewelry, body items, and collectables. I purchased 2 books, “Bad Feminist Essays” by Roxane Gay and “Carefree Black Girls: A Celebration of Black Women in Popular Culture” by Zebla Blay, 2 lapel pins which read “Artist” and “Loving the Skin I’m In, and a National Museum of African American History and Culture T-shirt.
 
While shopping, I observed several people wearing T-shirts stating, “Republican Cuts Kill” and “Medicaid Saves Lives…Hand Off Medicaid.”
 
The upper level included galleries of artwork that are politically focused addressing resilience as well as music through the ages that included jazz, funk, rock, R&B, soul, blues, hip hop, and more. Beautiful images and artifacts from our forever musical icons like Prince, Whitney Houston, and Luther Vandross; even the Mother Ship from Parliament Funkadelics was there.  Great actors who graced the stage, tv, and film had representation.  Comedians like Richard Pryor and dance (not a lot!!) were on display.
 
A Katherine Dunham and Pearl Primus video played and instinctively, I wanted to undulate and roll my hips. Beautiful images of the Alvin Ailey Company sparkled. I wished that I was able to do a likkle turn or flip, but it’s hard being the talent and camera crew.  
 
The exhibit is out of this world. If you are a person of African descent, a visual artist, curator, educator, politician, activist, archivist, historian, veteran, writer, scholar, musician, thespian, and dancer—you need to see this museum. 
 
If you are a human being, you need to see this museum. It will transform you. 
 

We are in the middle of Caribbean Heritage Month and this year I decided to attend the Caribbean American Heritage Festival on Saturday, June 14th at City Park on Sunset Strip in Sunrise to celebrate. This event was sponsored by Sunrise Federal Government, took place from 5-9 pm on a beautiful warm and sunny day. I have never visited this park, even though it is located 10 minutes from my house.
 
My son and I left home at 6:30pm ensuring that the sun was sleepy and, on its way to bed. The drive was easy, now locating parking is a different story. As I looped around, praying for a close spot, I drove through the parking lot adjacent to the park and saw a few Junkanooers walking through. I immediately put my window down and asked if they performed yet. When he said no, I felt at ease but still quickly tried to find a parking spot so I could get myself situated. My son asked me if the only reason I wanted to come to the event was to see the Junkanoo band.  I chuckled thinking about the whistles I packed in my bag. I also had my selfie stick because the idea was to capture the activities taking place so that I could write a review for my blog but chile, that was an epic fail. 
 
Two of my CaribFunkers joined me which was great! When we entered the park, the soca music was jammin’ and radio personality and host Papa Keith was on the mic chattin’ to the crowd. The Moko Jumbie’s were walkin’, dancin’ and winin’up, engaging with di people, it was pure hilarity. As one of them made their way over to where we were standing, I decided that this would be my warmup.
 
When I heard the drum, and then Papa Keith introduces the Junkanoo Band, I transitioned, transposed, and transformed. I grabbed my whistle, gave my son his, and I was off. I was so wrapped up in my dancing and rushin’, I didn’t have time to set up my camera and selfie stick. I waved and swung that stick like I was a flag woman, drum major, or anyone leading a group of people down di road. As I blew my whistle—and yes, I was the only person rushin’ and blowing my whistle, I walked up to the band (which was very small—maybe 5 people) and started carryin’ on. I even forgot my son! 
 
The female dancer started the circle/conga line, we joined her, danced and grooved. I had a duet with the lead dancer, kicked my legs as I walked through the Moko Jumbie’s stilts, then I remembered that I left my son. As I quickly looked around the circle for that distinctive curly afro and didn’t see him, I panicked. I immediately left the line and walked to the spot we were standing before the band started. Before I got there, I saw his little calm and reserved self, walking in the line with no expression and not blowing his whistle. In that moment I asked myself, how is this my child? He is so much like me and then in these instances, he is not. When I asked him what he was thinking, he said I was just like “there goes mom again” (screaminggggggggg!).
 
When the band finished, I was a sweaty mess—literally dripping. I dried off, trying to maintain what was left of my make-up. We decided to get a drink and check out the vendors which was very sparse. I ordered a milk shake for my son at an ice cream and sushi truck and a water for myself. Then, we walked over to the section that sold alcohol and we ordered a few cocktails, I had my usual Prosecco. Inner Circle was jammin’ and the crowd was rockin’ with them.  
 
My son wanted a bubble gun so as I walked over to that vendor, I briefly glanced at a separate vendor section. I saw jewelry, artwork, clothes, oils, and carnival costumes. They had a gamming station ran by the Sunrise Police as well, but they were wrapping up when we got there. The officer informed me that they will be there again for their back-to-school event in August. 
 
Before we left, we headed over to a food truck that sold Bahamian food. This is where I have questions. I ordered “crack conch which is called “fried conch” in South Florida and conch salad, which is also called conch salad, but it is made differently. It is visibly different, in terms of the color. It is red, some put black pepper and some type of vinegar which changes the taste considerably which is also BLASPHEMY by true Bahamian standards. 
 
This version had no tomatoes and was overrun with cucumbers. I don’t recall there being any green peppers either. After I tasted the first bite, the owner of the food truck asked me what I thought. I told her it was good but definitely “different.” I said I am Bahamian, and this is not the way we make it. She said that she was also Bahamian, but this is the version that sells the most in the US. That was very interesting so…Miami/S. Florida Conch Salad vs Bahamian Conch Salad. What are your thoughts?
 
Final Words
I thoroughly enjoyed the event. I would love to see more cultural dance showcased at the event—like Caribbean dancers and Caribbean dances performed like Haitian Konpa, Folklore, Trinidadian Bélé, Puerto Rican Bomba, Jamaican Dancehall, etc. It would be great to showcase more food trucks as well. 
 
The advertisement stated that there would be crafting, face painting, steel pan workshop, Moko Jumbie and Junkanoo Workshop, and piped music. Some of these things were scheduled earlier so, I am not sure if I missed it or it didn’t occur but overall, I thought it was a great event and I look forward to seeing it develop even further next year. 
 
 
 




 
 
 
 

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The Politics of Abandonment
The politics of abandonment is a deep-rooted issue for me. As a child, I dreaded Father’s Day, this feeling remained with me as an adult, and I carry this viewpoint as a single parent raising a son who is now a third-generation recipient of this nocuous cycle. 
 
My mother experienced abandonment from her both her biological father as well as her stepfather. I encountered abandonment from my father, and now my son is enduring it from his father. 
 
How do I break this cycle?
On Saturday, the feeling of nervousness entered my psyche as I thought about how I could create a distraction for both my son and I. I took him to a Caribbean Festival on the park (which I will write about later) and I made the decision that we were not going to attend church because I didn’t want to deal with the overt acknowledgement and fanfare of something we both have not experienced and do not connect with. 
 
I asked him what he wanted to do on Sunday? He stated that he wanted to work out together. I then asked him if he desired to see a movie and he was all in. I determined that this may in fact become our new tradition. After the movie, I asked him if he would like me to prepare his favorite meal, baked ziti with shrimp—heavy on the cheese, and garlic bread? With a resounding yes and a great big smile, we headed to the grocery store. When we got home, he asked for a bubble bath—today is a wash day for his hair anyway, so I obliged. 
 
What am I teaching him?  Besides self-care, I am attempting to impart that on this day, when he is a dad, that this day is about him and taking care of his wants which includes self-care and spending quality time with the people who he wants to be with, in his sacred space—on his terms. 
 
Capacity:
Since we didn’t attend church, I live streamed The Potters House and Bishop Jakes’ message was about “Capacity.” What I realized is that having a child with someone that doesn’t have the capacity to be a parent is an awful, heartbreaking, and often frustrating experience for both the parent who is holding it down, shouldering everything, emotionally, physically, and financially but most importantly the child who has to deal with feelings of neglect, emotionally and physically and the self-blaming in terms of abandonment, feelings of inadequacy, low self-esteem, mental health issues, and also how this trauma can affect them as adults in their relationships. We have too many unhealed, unhealthy, and toxic men who are dating and/or in relationships who have never addressed their childhood traumas and end up wrecking their partners and families due to some of their unresolved issues from childhood as it pertains to their parents. 
 
Discoveries in Therapy:
What I am discovering in my therapy sessions addressing both mother and father wounds, I am also navigating my fears of parenting a male child alone. I am learning to understand my “father wounds” as a woman but there is a difference when it relates to men. Men also experience negative impact and consequences which leads to emotional and psychological pain and trauma which manifests as emotional unavailability (I hear the women clapping!) and distance. Many men also struggle with self-worth and identity. The literature states that this is the result of “unmet needs during childhood” from parents. 
What my therapist says:
When I shared my feelings about this with my therapist and how I avoid conversations with my son about his absentee father, she said, “what if he is OK with everything because you are doing an amazing job, and he doesn’t miss what he doesn’t have because you’re providing the things that he needs.”  This did offer some comfort but of course, I am still unable to accept this because I think about what the literature says, my experience with this with my own father, and the effects of dating men with unhealed trauma due to unresolved “father wounds.”
 
What I am doing to counter the consequences of father absenteeism: 
Knowing all this information and my own personal fears, I decided to enroll my son in basketball and football, sign him up for a Big Brother with the Big Brother Big Sister Program, teach him how to have empathy, how to communicate effectively, the importance of emotional intelligence, and how to redirect his anger through breathing exercises and various movement experiences. But is this enough?
 
Final Thoughts
I do see the wonderful relationships children and adults have with their fathers and it is beautiful. Sadly, it is something that I have never experienced but I pray that this is not my son’s story and that he can read this reflection to his children and break the cycle of abandonment. 
 
 
 
 
 

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Documenting Goombay and Little Bahamas is “a research project spearheaded by FIU’s Wolfsonian Public Humanities Laboratory (WPHL)…[archiving] for perpetuity the iconic festival and the Bahamian community it celebrates.”* The Library of Congress American Folklife Center funded the project which was led by “principal investigator (PI) Rebecca Friedman, director of WPHL and professor of history; co-PI Valerie Patterson, director of the African and African Diaspora Studies Program and clinical associate professor of public administration; and Aaarti Mehta-Kroll, a Ph.D. student in Global and Sociocultural Affairs.” **
​
After a colleague sent me an article ***about this project last year, I was immediately interested and felt that it connected to my research on the embodied performance of women in Bahamian Junkanoo, which is an under discussed/written about subject. I reached out to one of the members of the team and the rest is history.  
 
Aaarti Mehta-Kroll and I spoke about the possibilities, which included working with 3 amazing students**** in the dance program at Miami Dade College—Kendall Campus as well as the Director of the Dance program, Michelle Grant-Murry to document the embodied expressions of Goombay/Junkanoo participants (performers and observers), capturing their feelings, emotions, and memories—orally and kinesthetically. The students took amazing photos and videos of the festival goers and Junkanooers over the 3-day event. To culminate the 2024 project/festival, I wrote a reflection***** and created a reel demonstrating the wonderful moments featured.
 
The second part of the project is the “Documenting Goombay and Little Bahamas” exhibit at Sanctuary of the Arts on Grand Avenue between SW 37th Avenue and Elizabeth Street, where images from the 2024 festival were on display. Both Fernanda Romero and I are featured photographers. My selected image was ripe with activity. As, I analyzed the image, I remembered that there was something about this image that stuck out—this led me to search for the video in my archives. 
 
As I went through the videos and images we took of women of all ages, living their best life—dancin’, winin’, jukin’, and jammin’ to the goat skin drums, cow bells, and the brass instruments, engaging in what seemingly appeared to be a spiritual experience—I was reminded of the transformational opportunities that people felt and witnessed. 
 
What is the narrative? What happened? What is going on?
Leading up to the still that was taken of the drummer, there are multiple events occurring simultaneously in the video. In the middle of his ferocious drumming, the strap for his drum popped. Because I was watching him, I was able to read his reaction and see the frustration in his face and body. He leaned over (for which seemed like a very long time) to gather the strap and hook it up, which probably took him longer than he thought it should take. It would have been great to interview him, have him watch the video, and also code it. 
 
Another captivating moment was watching the lead female Junkanooer skin out. Her hips rotated and swayed to the beat of the drums and horns. With her legs open, in a deep second position, her torso parallel to the floor, matching the cadence of the band, she dipped low, performing an oppositional knee drop and wine.
 
My absolute favorite moment were these two sensationally seasoned women who weaved in an out of the band while rushin’. One of the women, dressed in a yellow skirt and black tank top shook her keys as if they were a cow bell or shaker, making music with what was available to her—how African! She blew her whistle, bopping and marching, moving from one side of the procession to another. The other lady, her dance partner, dressed comfortably in printed pants and a black shirt, and wearing a “borrowed” head piece from one of the Junkanooers performed her version of the Junkanoo Prance******.  She arched her back like a peacock, waved her arms, did a grape vine step—got low, and gloriously swayed her hips. 
 
This analysis of the physical expression and performance of the dancers is important, particularly as the Bahamas just had their Carnival celebration, which was instituted in 2015. As I looked at the images and videos of the revelers and read the comments on Facebook on the pages of the “Nassau Guardian” and “Our News Bahamas” by members of the community, the comments revealed a deep descent from cultural history—a history of rebellion, power, the political, and expression of identity through music, dance, and dress. Many in the comments described the performance/presentation of the Bahamian Carnival revelers as “vulgar”, “devoid of morality and Christianity”, and the most popular was that “it’s not a representation of Bahamian culture.”’ The dancing performed by the Nassauvians was no different than the Miami Goombay participants, myself included. Why is that when women move their bodies, expressing a certain freedom and erotic *******power, it is misread/miscoded negatively? And don’t let no skin be out! BLASPHEMY. The hypocrisy is galling, particularly in a nation that have no laws to protect women and children, rape is justified, and government officials and Christian leaders have very soiled and sullied reputations.  
 
I will say this, to really offer an informed analysis, one must research the history of Junkanoo, Goombay, and Carnival and the politics of respectability (there is an entire history surrounding this discussion). This knowledge will unearth some of the reasons why people choose to participate in these events, what they feel and experience during these events, and why certain groups of people are demonized. For those open to the discussion, this context should inform you about the embodied expressions of the participants and how this phenomenon may/can translate into their everyday lives in positive ways. 
 
Foot notes
*Ellenberg, Todd. 2024
** Ellenberg, Todd. 2024
***Ellenberg, Todd. 
​https://news.fiu.edu/2024/preserving-goombay-fiu-team-receives-library-of-congress-grant-to-document-iconic-miami-festival
**** Fernanda Romero, Lisbeth Moqueteca, and Michelle Paredes
***** https://www.facebook.com/watch/?mibextid=wwXIfr&v=945332730728182&rdid=xSVg6IOcDY0vrgDt
 
****** A’Keitha Carey has developed a Junkanoo Codification System in which Junkanoo Prance is featured. 
 
Images

1. 2024 Goombay Festival Miami, Florida Image: A’Keitha Carey
2. Research Participants: Fernanda Romero, Lisbeth Moqueteca, Michelle Paredes, and A’Keitha Carey
3. Co-PI Dr. Valerie Patterson and Fernanda Romero
4. Documenting Goombay and Little Bahamas Poster
5. 2024 Goombay Festival Miami, Florida Images by: Christine Cortes, Fernanda Romero, and Enrique Rosell
6. 2024 Goombay Festival Miami, Florida Image: A’Keitha Carey
7. 2024 Goombay Festival Miami, Florida Image by Michelle Grant-Murray