These are some letters of reflection written by my father during his imprisonment in Angola Bound, Louisiana. Twenty years of his life was spent in there. My Father was a simple man, he was all about family, and he had a passion for his heritage and a love for the United States. The greatest moments in his life were those spent with his parents and grandparents upon the outskirts of Louisiana. He loved the countryside and the freedom of nature. Being locked up and restricted for so many years, I believe robbed us, his daughters of a Father. He was an overcomer, but a man in chains can only take so much pain. Living on the margins of discrimination because of his beliefs, those beliefs institutionalised him and labelled him an outcast.
The Jim Crow Segregation policy in the south has torn this nation apart, colored, mixed and white alike. The law is horrific here in Mississippi, I have lost friends and cousins to this hate. Racism was never an issue in our family, we are of mixed heritage and don’t recall any such brutality. My Fathers writings brought everything into perspective; they revealed to me that nothing had changed.
The Jim Crow Segregation policy in the south has torn this nation apart, colored, mixed and white alike. The law is horrific here in Mississippi, I have lost friends and cousins to this hate. Racism was never an issue in our family, we are of mixed heritage and don’t recall any such brutality. My Fathers writings brought everything into perspective; they revealed to me that nothing had changed.
I look more African American then my sisters. Magnolia and Charlotte-Rose always refused to use the white facilities, eventhough they could pass for white people. Lillian-Elizabeth had no problem; she was the fairest of us all. Charlotte-Rose was never happy with Lillian’s actions and attitude, she often reminded her about Daddy’s struggle. Aunty Bell was right; they were like chalk and cheese. Isadora my late mother and we his daughters were Daddy’s pride and joy, his reason for living. I have a son who carries my Father’s name.
Gastogne-Jean is my son, he is in his final year of college, he has joined the peace core and is embarking on a journey with the Freedom Riders. Magnolia’s youngest daughter is 16 years old; she will be joining her cousin on the freedom rides. Our Father was enslaved, its 1960 now and we are still in the same predicament as him and his forebears. When will it all end, I ask myself daily! I’m so proud of my son and niece for doing the right thing, for standing up for the future generations and for their grandfather. They will bring hope and an end to all this evil. I’m a mother of five and soon I will be a grandmother, my eldest child Aquilla will be having a son in the fall.
Today our Father is known by the underworld as the Shadow man, the authorities call him the crazy man. My father Jean-Pierre is a casualty of bereavement, racism and persecution. My family are determined to see him back in our lives, our children want him back, he is the only connection to our past, and our Mother.
Dearest Father this last word is for you, your first great-grandchild will be born soon, thank you for all you have done, and we love you and want to see you home with us again. Always and forever, this is dedicated to you, to all who have fought for our freedom and to all who continue to fight for justice in the United States of America and abroad.
Faithfully yours,
Isabella -Joy Wallis`- Vincent
Summer 1960
Louissianna, USA
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I remember my grandmamma and grandpapa, they raised me up in this world, taught me everything I know. Grandma kept the old ways of Mother Africa. Grandpapa he a Cajun, born and bred in the bayou. Old grandmamma say it was black magic that made him fall in love with her. I recall him singing this song to granny while waltzing around the dining table, he was always romantic, and he taught me the proper way to treat a lady.
Look how she lights up the sky,
Ma Belle Isadora
Ma Belle Isadora
So far above me yet I,
Know her heart belongs to only me.
Je t'adore, Je t'aime Isadora
Know her heart belongs to only me.
Je t'adore, Je t'aime Isadora
You're my queen of the night,
So still, So bright.
So still, So bright.
That someone as beautiful as she.
Could love someone like me.
Could love someone like me.
Love always finds a way it's true!
And I love you Isadora
Love is beautiful,
Love is wonderful!
Love is everything, do you agree?
Mais' oui!
Look how she lights up the sky,
I love you, Isadora.
Love is wonderful!
Love is everything, do you agree?
Mais' oui!
Look how she lights up the sky,
I love you, Isadora.
I grew up in the slums of the French quarter. Coming to the bright lights of our crescent city was a treat for me as a boy.
On my Black side Shaka Dema married Naya Obed and begot Abuzi, Abuzi married Hematna and they begot my grandmamma Isabella-Josephine Wallis`. My mother’s name was Josephine. On the Cajun side Jean-Pierre Wallace came from Nova Scotia, he married Aquious the daughter of the great Aquill healer Jalawinqua. They begot Kenai Nuvet` Wallace, he married Charlotte Lebouff and begot my grandpapa Nuvet` Pierre Wallis`, their only child. I’m an only child too, Papa and Mama died, it was smallpox they told me. My name is Jean-Pierre Wallis`II.
My ancestor Captain Pankhurst Wallace came from the Isle of Skye in Scotland. He was a descendant of seafaring people. He joined the Royal British Navy and travelled the great seas of India, Atlanta, Pacific and Scandinavia. His last voyage led him to the great land mass of Canada where He settled in the Scottish province of Nova Scotia in 1802. He also was an only child; he was dearly loved by his mother who was heartbroken when he chose to join the Royal British Navy. His Father was a Doctor. My great ancestor Jalawinqua was a healer as well.
Was this going to be my destiny?
We never had much, but what we did have was love and a whole lotta of gumbo, jumbalai, shrimp, crawfish and frogs, these foods were a delicacy in our household. When I joined the military I realised how poor we really were. I was on top of the world in those days, sailing the seas like my ancestor Pankhurst Wallace. I thought I had it all, but oh how I was wrong!
Raising my Children
Digging graves today, my pal John boy cell 414 was stabbed. You just don’t know when your time is up in here.
My Grandmamma and Grandpapa were the love of my life, they taught me how to be a man, how to raise animals, to hunt, to fish; they taught me how to treat women and taught me about my black and white cultures, they taught me about the values that were important to them, of which I was to pass down to my young. When they died I felt like I was being stabbed all over my body, first my parents then my lifeline. I buried them next to Mama and Papa under the Willow tree, I loved that place. I would often practice Grandmama’s voodoo in the hope that my parents would come back to life.
Isadora my wife, I met her in Atlanta while on military leave, she was a gorgeous Georgia peach that I had to have. She is my first my last my everything.
Two winters had passed, my Issi was back and we had twins on the way. My wife was healthy and strong that year. She bore me more daughters! Lillian Elizabeth and Charlotte Rose. I was 28 years old and a very proud husband and father.
When the twins reached 3 years of age my Issi fell ill again. I’d tried everything Grandmamma taught me. A man raising four children and a sick wife was taking its toll, I had lost hope. And the sea was calling me, Germany had declared war.
The Baton Rouge Asylum came for my beautiful Issi, my cousin Bell and her husband offered to assist me with the children, they had no children, they are good people. I was heartbroken but knew my children needed stability.
Lament
My Issi my Issi so long it has been since I’ve seen you. Your mind is dull; my heart still beats for you, wife of my youth. Come back to me, awaken inside. Black dog has taken you from me my love.
Cousin
“Bell so good to see you my cousin!”, “Your looking well Jean, they feeding you right here?”, “Feeding me good cousin, I be digging graves all day long these days, I value my meals, have to keep up my strength. How are my girls? My Issi?”, “Issi didn’t make it Jean”, “Oh my love, my poor beautiful Issi noooooo, where’s my bebe’s? How are they cousin?”, “Isabella-Joy is a great debater, Magnolia loves to bake and sew, Lillian-Elizabeth and Charlotte Rose are chalk and cheese, one a tomboy the other a princess, I better go Jean, I will bring the girls next month”.
I waited for them but they never came, all I had was memories and those graves.
My voodoo practise came from Angola. Grandmamma Isabella’s people. In the Great War I was a medic. I knew I had a gift, some wounds needed more attention than others, I used the chants and prayers that grandmamma taught me to help the infirmed, wounded and the dead. The first time I did it, the Head Medical officer disciplined me, and the second time I wanted to heal, a complaint was laid against me by a Baptist Sailor. I was eventually court marshalled and jailed for using my gift to heal a Turk Officer, he was severely wounded on the shores of Gallipoli, he pleaded for my help and I responded out of empathy.
Memories of my Issi and the labour of war she experienced in birthing came flooding back and in flashbacks I would imagine the trauma and darkness that led to her suicide. I hated death, I wanted to bring life. For my insubordination I was jailed for twenty years, for doing good I was jailed! I could not believe it! For practising my heritage I was persecuted, woe to the injustice!
I wrote to my baby-cakes today and my letter reads:
To my dear daughters I loved your Mother with all my heart and soul. I’ve learnt more about what she suffered, the Doctors here call it post natal depression, she had it severely for many years. I love seeing you all. The once a year visits are heaven for me. Angola is loosening its rules, there’s talk that visiting hours will be increased. Everybody here calls me the Shadow man, the Cajun folk refer to me as Dr Facilier, much to the dislike of Reverend James who is trying to lead me to the Lord, but I ain’t buying it! I can’t change what’s in me, people always trying to change me, Iam who Iam.
With Love from your Daddy.
P.s Miss Joy please put a dress on Lilly, no daughter of mind is gonna be a tomboy!
Tomb
Eddie Peyroux died today, his cell is across from mine, he was all bound up. He hung himself, I dug his grave. Me and the other brothers gave him a ceremonial send off. He’s of Angolese descendant like us. Our punishment was the hole for three weeks. Because of the punishment I missed the brightest day of the year, family visit day and the chance to see my girls, I asked the guard to give them a letter I wrote, found out later that he tore it up and threw it in the trash. I never saw them that year.
Hitler declared war today; my girls are all grown-ups now. This life has robbed me of a wife, a family, a career, but most of all my identity. I’m not evil, it’s you who make me that way, and this life has been my war. The trophy’s I held were my wife and children. My tear ducts are all dried out; I have no feeling, only death for this place. Hope has gone and my grave is waiting for me, this rope my saviour. Is this my destiny? I should have died in Gallipoli.
Take no prisoners
Daddy! The beautiful voice called, it was my daughters, they came to visit me, and it was a relief to see them, my light in this dark place. Incarceration had stolen my vision and for a moment there I thought I was hallucinating, but I wasn’t it was all real. My eldest told me I was being released in a few days, the shackles were taken of my feet and hands and I could finally embrace my four beautiful daughters, all a reflection of their late mother, my precious Issi.
Evil, regret, pain, disappointment had knotted me up inside. Twenty years of prison time and a lifetime of death and being misunderstood was carved into my psyche. I did not know what good or hate awaited me, all I knew was that my blood was here right now, bone of my bone, living ones, not the dead I buried. Issi was here. I promised myself after being released that if anyone touches my family I swore that blood would be spilt and revenge would be my weapon to protect me and mine.
All Musicals: Ma Belle Evangeline. Retrieved 18 September, 2011, from:
http://www.allmusicals.com/lyrics/princessandthefrog/mabelleevangeline.htm
Images: Google. Retrieved 18 September, 2011, from: http://google.com
Images: Google. Retrieved 18 September, 2011, from: http://google.com
Spark Life Academy: No Fear Sonnet by William Shakespeare. Retrieved 16 September, 2011, from: http://nfs.sparknotes.com/sonnets/sonnet_121.html
St Lyrics: You’re my first, my last my everything. Retrieved 16 September, 2011, from: http://www.stlyrics.com/lyrics/bridgetjonestheedgeofreason/youremyfirstmylastmyeverything.htm
YouTube: Ma Belle Evangeline. Retrieved 18 September, 2011, from: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hhiqIYG3TP4
No comments:
Post a Comment