Returning to Kuumba
The weekend before last, I took Rosemary with me to Harvard to see the Kuumba Singers, a choir dedicated to African-American music and spirituality, for their spring concert as part of the group's 40th anniversary weekend. I used to sing in Kuumba when I was in college, and I was last in town to see them at the 35th anniversary weekend. Didn't mean to be away five years, but I was.
The kids were all different - I knew none of them now. The director, Sheldon, I know. And then I saw other Kuumba alumni sitting in the front rows, some of whom I hadn't seen in a decade or more. Just like my college friend Deanna, who was sitting next to me for the first time in seven years.
But the songs made it all better. The words come back to me for songs I hadn't thought about in years. After the show I got to catch up with some classmates and other folks from the Harvard days, and singing more songs into the night. It was GREAT to be back among people like that, in what was a powerful and much-needed safe place as a black student at Harvard.
Another part of the Kuumba puzzle for me was that, to be honest, I've never felt more in touch with my heritage as I do when among them. Even among my family, we're pretty not-"black." We're without traditions or customs. I know next to nothing of my family's history - what they've been through, where they are from. It's a history unspoken - and why would you, given how much pain there is in it? Think about it; my grandmother's direct relatives were slaves, that much I know.
So much of the by-and-large Afro-American culture is rooted in religion; my parents aren't religious, and I grew up more Catholic than Baptist thanks to school. Never mind my own interests as a nerd. Ir was a tough row to hoe as a black nerd, since it often meant being the only black face most places I went. (I didn't know any other black nerds until college. Before that, I was called Urkel and Carlton all the time.) Then there's the fact that I'm with someone not of my ethnicity, which has its own effects.
So being in a place such as Kuumba always gave me a place to connect with a heritage I'm a part of but often don't feel as if I belong to. It reminds me that when the strains of "Life Ev'ry Voice And Sing" begin, I can feel that history within me, and the lyrics flow from my mouth despite never really knowing them. To be in a place where, even though I've largely left religion (and I have my many, many reasons for that), I can appreciate and swim in a positive, life-changing community where just the name Jesus has meant so much to so many.
I have to hold on to this feeling, this community, as much as I can. I've got to go back, I've got to keep in touch, I've got to know and be known again. Thank you, Kuumba family.
The kids were all different - I knew none of them now. The director, Sheldon, I know. And then I saw other Kuumba alumni sitting in the front rows, some of whom I hadn't seen in a decade or more. Just like my college friend Deanna, who was sitting next to me for the first time in seven years.
But the songs made it all better. The words come back to me for songs I hadn't thought about in years. After the show I got to catch up with some classmates and other folks from the Harvard days, and singing more songs into the night. It was GREAT to be back among people like that, in what was a powerful and much-needed safe place as a black student at Harvard.
Another part of the Kuumba puzzle for me was that, to be honest, I've never felt more in touch with my heritage as I do when among them. Even among my family, we're pretty not-"black." We're without traditions or customs. I know next to nothing of my family's history - what they've been through, where they are from. It's a history unspoken - and why would you, given how much pain there is in it? Think about it; my grandmother's direct relatives were slaves, that much I know.
So much of the by-and-large Afro-American culture is rooted in religion; my parents aren't religious, and I grew up more Catholic than Baptist thanks to school. Never mind my own interests as a nerd. Ir was a tough row to hoe as a black nerd, since it often meant being the only black face most places I went. (I didn't know any other black nerds until college. Before that, I was called Urkel and Carlton all the time.) Then there's the fact that I'm with someone not of my ethnicity, which has its own effects.
So being in a place such as Kuumba always gave me a place to connect with a heritage I'm a part of but often don't feel as if I belong to. It reminds me that when the strains of "Life Ev'ry Voice And Sing" begin, I can feel that history within me, and the lyrics flow from my mouth despite never really knowing them. To be in a place where, even though I've largely left religion (and I have my many, many reasons for that), I can appreciate and swim in a positive, life-changing community where just the name Jesus has meant so much to so many.
I have to hold on to this feeling, this community, as much as I can. I've got to go back, I've got to keep in touch, I've got to know and be known again. Thank you, Kuumba family.