All Saints Day 2023 in Holt Cemetery, New Orleans, Louisiana. Photo by Gaynell Brady.
As I sit in the historical Holt Cemetery on All Saints Day, I observe moss blowing from side to side. The roots and branches remain steady. I see uneven rows with homemade headstones. Some graves are fully decorated with shades of blue, pink, yellow, and green. Some gravesites are adorned with trinkets to pay tribute to the deceased. Each burial site is as unique as the people who are buried here.
As I sit in this space, I reflect on the folks who are buried in this sacred ground. Many of them were domestic servants and skilled laborers in Louisiana with ties to the rural communities. When these folks came to New Orleans, many of them were seeking better opportunities for their descendants. They built the city, fed the town, and nourished multiple generations of relatives and non-relatives.
Yet, some of them rest in unmarked graves, forever lost to time. Their contributions are not acknowledged. Their names go unmentioned. This cemetery is especially important to me because it is the final resting place of my ancestors who came to New Orleans after they were emancipated from slavery. I sit here waiting patiently for someone who wants to hear my ancestors' stories. I sit here waiting to assist someone who needs help with
finding their loved one’s burial site. Many people are uncomfortable with being in a cemetery. Yet, it is one of my favorite places to share my ancestors’ stories. It is one of my favorite places to do reconciliation work.
I have been interpreting my family's history over the past ten years and the most challenging part of my job is making participants comfortable (while being uncomfortable) when I am sharing painful parts of my family history. The sole purpose of my career has been to uplift the names of those who came before me.
I started my journey with a photo of my 2nd great-grandmother, Bell London Jefferson, known to my family as Mama Bell. I started researching my family history to learn more about Mama Bell, the woman whom everyone in my family loved. Many of the stories shared about her were through oral history.
After researching, I learned that Mama Bell raised four generations of her family while working as a domestic servant in New Orleans until her burial in Holt Cemetery in 1971. To my understanding, all of Mama Bell’s immediate ancestors were enslaved, and many of those women worked in Louisiana homes–more specifically Louisiana’s kitchens. Many of my stories about these women were shared via oral history while cooking a family recipe. The rest were obtained on my research journey.
Gaynell as her 3x great-grandmother Adele Decuir (1845-1939) visiting a church in Alexandria, Louisiana, 2023. Photo by Barry Brady, III.
Answering the Call
Mama Bell was a breadwinner for her family—her husband lost his right arm and left fingers while working in the lumber industry. When Mama Bell arrived in New Orleans, she worked at a bakery and as a domestic servant at a private boarding house. She raised 4 generations of my ancestors including her siblings, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. After learning about Mama Bell’s sacrifices, I wanted to do something that would not only uplift her name but would also centralize black humanity for all the enslaved and formerly enslaved women on my family tree.
In one of my moments of deep meditation, I was told to name the company “Our Mammy’s” in their honor. This was the beginning of my uncomfortable journey. The mere name of my organization—Our Mammy's—is difficult for the average person to understand unless they attend one of my presentations. My challenges occur daily. I am often met with opposition from those who feel I shouldn't be portraying my enslaved ancestors because it would be a disgrace to them. I was also told it would be easier for me to share the stories of my ancestors who were free people of color because it’s a safer and easier topic to discuss. My response is usually, “Easier for you, not for me.” The thought of ignoring Mama Bell's sacrifices, because her story is uncomfortable, breaks my heart.
Others embrace my name because they assume I am going to present the happy slave narrative; however, they are quite shocked when I present a different perspective. One must know that I first heard the name mammy from my grand-uncle Booker T. Washington (named, as was his father, after the renowned educator and founder of Tuskegee University). He used to call our house and say, “Put ya mammy on the phone.” I originally thought he was being disrespectful, but I realized he was saying what he was taught. The word “mammy” in my family was synonymous with “mama.” The word “mama” in my family could be someone’s biological mama or community mama.
I also believe I was told to name the company “Our Mammy’s” to remind folks how the women on my family tree were owned by others, even in their freedom. They often couldn’t travel or leave without someone’s permission. The research on my family tree indicates the women in my family were extremely strong, educated, and self-sufficient. It also indicates my relatives worked together to accomplish all the luxuries (homeownership, education, and food security) that my family has experienced over the past two generations. This contradicts the mammy stereotype that depicts black women as overweight, uneducated, and happy women who are unfit to take care of their children and put all their attention and love into children who are not their own. My mammies were the mammy or mama that every African American family mourned when the matriarch passed away. When Big Mama dies, the whole family falls apart. I have been asked by several organizations to change my name on marketing materials to make others comfortable. I refuse.
I didn’t think it would be so difficult for me to share my family stories and traditions. These are my stories and our stories. My unapologetic truth and our truth. I can’t change the name of my company to fit the needs of another organization’s marketing strategy.
Bell London Jefferson (1888-1971) standing in her niece’s home in New Orleans, Louisiana, 1971. Photo credit unknown.
Bell London Jefferson on the porch with her son in law and grandson, New Orleans, Louisiana. Photo credit unknown.
Interpreting Zeline Fabre with a group of students at the Destrehan Plantation Heritage Day program in Destrehan, Louisiana. Photo by Barry Brady, III.
What do we do at Our Mammy’s that makes folks uncomfortable?
A typical program consists of me sharing a story about one of my ancestors and pairing it with an activity. I present documents, photographs, and other artifacts and combine them with stories filled with universal concepts. The narratives I share with participants are rooted in genealogical and historical research and supported by generations of oral history.
One of my favorite programs to facilitate is Mammy and the Underground Railroad (MUR). I created this program to tell the story of my 3rd great-grandmother, Lizzie Riley. Lizzie was a midwife and was known for her healing skills. She was born in Kentucky and enslaved on a plantation in rural Louisiana, and whenever there was a problem in her community, folks always turned to her.
I developed the Underground Railroad program to show how black women have helped their community from the moment they reached the plantation. When the enslaved or freedom seekers were lost, women like Lizzie provided directions. When the enslaved or freedom seekers were sick or injured, they were cared for in the homes of women like Lizzie. When the enslaved or freedom seekers were hungry, these women gave them something to eat. Mammy and the Underground Railroad remembers Grandma Lizzie and all the women who aided freedom seekers. One of the activities includes a scavenger hunt for herbs and supplies to heal the ailments of their assigned person. Recently, I facilitated MUR at a local museum, and it was enjoyed by all who attended. It was supposed to last one hour, but the audience stayed for three.
Days after facilitating MUR at the museum, I received a phone call from someone who felt that I was playing the role of a “happy slave.” The caller saw photos of me and one of my dolls dressed in what he described as slave clothing. The caller said the images made them upset. I asked him, "What is bothering you? The doll, or me in a period-style dress sharing a story about my grandma?" The person said they realized they prematurely judged MUR. I told the person to attend a program and then feel free to critique what I do.
Gaynell portrays her 3x great-grandmother Sarah Green Meyers (1871-1945) at the River Road African American Museum in Donaldsonville, Louisiana, 2023. Photo by Barry Brady, III.
Microaggressions in Situated Learning Environments
Gaynell visiting the Old Benevolent Society Hall in St. Francisville, Louisiana. 2019. Photo by Gaynell Brady.
The ultimate test I face is when I facilitate programs on Louisiana soil where my ancestors were enslaved or worked as sharecroppers. Because of my love of Louisiana history and my knowledge of my family history, I am often asked to participate in on-site programs to interpret the lives of Louisiana’s African Americans. I applaud the efforts of the educators, directors, and interpreters who are willing to do the repair work; yet their efforts often get derailed with every docent who feels the need to assert their power at historical sites.
I have been greeted by several forms of microaggressions; yet, I continue to interpret my ancestors’ lives. My ancestors were once silenced, and my goal is to serve as a reminder of their existence. I will not be quiet. I can recall one docent who asked me, “Are you trying to research your way back to Africa?” My response was, “Eventually. Right now, I am trying to put together all the lines that were destroyed by slavery in America. It is my greatest dream to connect with one of my African ancestors. For now, I will continue to meet my African American and European cousins scattered across the USA.”
Another example is when I am asked to portray famous people. When I decline their requests, I am met with aggression or confusion. The people who send these types of requests are often looking to share the stories that have already been told to make their audience more comfortable. Some folks don’t understand why it’s so important to me to share the stories of Louisiana’s lesser-known contributors. They often tell me I should portray Madam CJ Walker or Harriet Tubman. I usually respond, “I am going to portray Alice Bradley or Bell Jefferson. Aunt Alice is my Madam CJ Walker and Bell Jefferson is my Harriet Tubman. Besides, Madam CJ Walker’s descendants are doing an amazing job telling her story.”
I want to encourage other people to find their story. I think it adds a special touch to incorporate our stories into what we do. As interpreters, we have the best skills to do so.
All Saints Day 2023 in Holt Cemetery, New Orleans, Louisiana. Photo by Gaynell Brady.
Being Comfortable with the Truth
As interpreters and site managers, we are trusted to share our expertise with others. We are trusted because the public believes we have spent hours researching and analyzing data. We are trusted because we spent hours learning techniques to help us interpret challenging topics. We just need to learn to be comfortable with telling the truth. The truth has an amazing way of helping one to heal. The unwavering truth is the foundation of healing. We don’t have to hate our ancestors or our cousins across the pond, but we must not repeat their mistakes. We repeat their mistakes every time we avoid an uncomfortable topic.
When I worked as an educator at the Louisiana State Museum, I was asked to give tours of the museum’s Hurricane Katrina exhibit. I spent hours walking groups through the exhibit. I always started the tour with the story about my sister’s drowning in the storm. Folks often asked me why I continued to do these tours; I would always tell them I didn’t want anyone else to die. It hurts to say my sister died due to the levee failure and flood waters of Hurricane Katrina; however, if I don’t mention it, we are at risk of building another inadequate system.
This example illustrates the reason why I continue to share my ancestors’ stories. I don’t want anyone else to experience what they did. We can’t afford to build inadequate and inaccurate education systems. We must tell the full truth even if it hurts.
Hope for the Future
It is not easy to talk about my challenges as an African American interpreter who faces adversity while portraying my grandmothers. I started this work to share the stories I felt were missing from the narrative. I confess it is not easy, but it is so rewarding. With this article, Mama Bell, we remember you.
Interpreting Zeline Fabre (1825-?) at the Destrehan Plantation Heritage Day program in Destrehan, Louisiana, 2022. Photo by Gaynell Brady.
