My First American Ancestor

"We are the daughters of those who chose to survive."
Julie Dash






About 300 years ago, a ship finally heaved to a halt near the Eastern Seaboard of the United States. This vessel was one of many shuttling human cargo from the Old World to the New World. On this ship was a young woman. She was just one of the many sons and daughters of Africa who were snatched from their lives on one shore of the Atlantic and unceremoniously dumped on the other, their entire life histories reduced to one word: "slave".

I don't know this woman's name. I don't know what language she spoke or what god she prayed to. I don't know how she wore her hair or what songs she loved to sing. I don't know which African nation she called her homeland. I don't know when she was born and I don't know when she died.

But I do know this:

I know that she survived. This woman survived the unfathomably horrific trip, in chains, in filth and most likely in utter dispair. While some others simply succumbed to the conditions or even took their own lives, this woman did not. Somewhere she found the strength, the hope, and the will to live on, come what may.

Sometimes I imagine what it would be like to meet this woman. First, I would hug her and tell her that I'm so sorry for all the suffering she'd endured. I'd listen to every story she had to tell me about her life before, after and during her middle passage.

Then I would tell her about all of us. Her children. Her grandchildren. Her great grands and her great great grands. I would tell her about all of her descendants -- field hands, house negroes, deacons, teachers, lawyers and concert pianists. I would show her every single family picture from the 1800s to the millenium.

Then I would show her how she and the people who made the journey with her had built the foundation of this nation with their own bare hands. I would tell her about Big Cotton and the Civil War. I would show her pictures from the Harlem Renaissance. I would tell her about Spellman and Howard. I would tell her about Black scientists, soldiers, entertainers, politicians, athletes, artists and writers. I would show her all of the great things that the people of the Diaspora had accomplished.

And then, I would kneel down and thank her from the bottom of my heart. I'd thank her for paying the ultimate sacrifice, so that I may now reap untold benefits.

So as I think about her, my first American ancestor, I wonder if she thinks about us. I wonder if she thinks we were worth the trip.