At last, here is a close-to-finished manuscript for a new book on Gullah culture. As I post it, I'm listening to Jazz 91 via the net from Toronto, and a Gullah homeboy Houston Person is playing some smooth jazz with be-bop changes to the pop tune, "Making Whoopee." Trane and Duke just finished "In a Sentimental Mood," and Clifford Brown opened hours ago with "Joyspring," my absolute favorite be-bop tune for its long, beautiful melodic lines, and its graceful freedom and swing. T. Sutton sings and so does Ella. It got so good, I skipped lunch!

But the writing, the crafting of words into a structured expression of the Gullah voice, using world history and contemporary biography, goes slowly. As you read this first post of the "near-finish," I hope you will say, "It also goes well." Please leave your comments below. I need to know what you think. Join me in the work of making the book better. so here is part one!

(Remember, the book itself uses the very Gullah principles and philosphy it presents. Remember, too, that Gullah is never "explained," just presented. When you serve food, you don't offer the recipe. The Gullah experience, events from its history and culture, are here for you to taste directly. If you are wise, you will also discover the secrets to their flavor within the book!) Bob mots!

The Gullah Cosmic Genius

From Cleveland

The History of South Carolina’s

Gullah Culture and How It Spread

The Gullah Cosmic Genius from Cleveland:
A History of South Carolina’s Gullah Culture
and how it Spread

Walter Rhett

Damali Marie Chou Rhett
Cover Photo, New York City, 2004

Copyright 2004 Walter Rhett
       All Rights Reserved

Rhett’s Charleston Publishing

Providing print and internet materials about Charleston, past and present.

For Damali,

Whose beautiful vision is guided by the light of wisdom.

Wisdom 7:24-28

For wisdom is more mobile than any motion;

because of her pureness she pervades and penetrates all things.

For she is a breath of the power of God,

and a pure emanation of the glory of the Almighty;

therefore nothing defiled gains entrance into her.

For she is a reflection of eternal light,

a spotless mirror of the working of God,

and an image of his goodness.

Although she is but one, she can do all things,

and while remaining in herself, she renews all things;

in every generation she passes into holy souls

and makes them friends of God, and prophets;

for God loves nothing so much as the person who lives with wisdom.

 

Psalm 107, 30-31

. . . He brought them to the harbor they were bound for.
Let them give thanks to the LORD for his mercy and the wonders he does for his children.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Book One

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Prologue

 

 

A Gullah Proverb:

Mus tek cyear a de root fa heal de tree.
(You must take care of the root to heal the tree.)

From Marcus Cicero:

Salus Populi Suprema Est Lex.
(The welfare of the people is the ultimate law.)

Job 38:1--18

Then the LORD answered Job out of the whirlwind: "Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge? Gird up your loins like a man, I will question you, and you shall declare to me. "Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding. Who determined its measurements-- surely you know! Or who stretched the line upon it? On what were its bases sunk, or who laid its cornerstone when the morning stars sang together and all the children of God shouted for joy? "Or who shut in the sea with doors when it burst out from the womb? -- when I made the clouds its garment, and thick darkness its swaddling band, and prescribed bounds for it, and set bars and doors, and said, `Thus far shall you come, and no farther, and here shall your proud waves be stopped'? 

 

“Have you ever in your life commanded the morning, and caused the dawn to know its place, that it might take hold of ⁽the ends of the earth, and the wicked be shaken out of it?” It is changed like clay under the seal; and they stand forth like a garment. ^)”From the wicked their light is withheld, and the ⁽uplifted arm is broken.”

"Have you entered into the springs of the sea, or walked in the recesses of the deep? Have the gates of death been revealed to you, or have you seen the gates of deep darkness? Have you comprehended the expanse of the earth? Declare, if you know all this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Gullah Cosmic Genius

From Cleveland

 

The Gullah people believe Birth sometimes brings with it unique spiritual powers. So Gullah people are always on the look out to discern the divine character of their children. One such distant daughter I know was born a ways apart from the gathered group of usual observers, 150 rivers outside of the cloister. The child was born up North during a snow.

Her parents had four-year college degrees from schools in Ohio. Despite the shuddering contemplation of such dislocation, her parents--thank God's mercy—also had Georgia and South Carolina roots.

    These roots are storehouses of knowledge. They nurture and work to build private purpose in every season--even if our understanding of the goals and processes are incomplete. These roots will twist around obstacles. These roots draw from their surroundings. They look like tentacles of lightning about to strike.   

But these roots have turned out to be patient, nurtured in love. These roots are the source of intentional sanity. These roots compose the new riffs. Tap roots, with their own source and second line: Think Miles Davis. Duke Ellington. Romare Bearden. Jacob Lawrence. Elizabeth Catlett. Tom Feelings. Mahalia Jackson. Toni Morrison. Stevie Wonder. Madame C. J. Walker. Richard Parsons. And all them somebodies in your family. 

These roots twist through the mist, enter the lava veins, and touch the fire at the molten center. The roots of the lantern children right from the beginning come from the wellspring of the rootstock.  Right out of the very canons and forces of creation. They bring their own heat to the party.

          This lantern child is coming of age. But she won’t be a debutante at the St. Cecilia’s Ball. The bata and djembe call her name. Follow her life’s provenance. Take a close peek at her mother’s mitochondria. She definitely was born a lantern child. But from the beginning, you might not know it. The ones with the light among the hardest to find.

The Gullah, they always looking to see if their children be healers, teachers, priests, warriors, guides, griots, mediums, hearers, seers, cooks, smiths, planters, stewards, singers, shamans, dancers, royal musicians, philosophers, storytellers, or any of the tens of categories unique to sustaining Gullah life and community.

       These roles sustain the community and celebrate the spirit of life. These roles are encoded in how the named ones live. For within the named ones is a truth that guides them through this world. When they speak and act, they reveal this worldview; you can see their work speaking for itself. Now, you think finding the light, spying the lantern children would be easy. But they's one of the hardest to find.

One reason: the light is all about. It has so many purposes. It is found in so many places. At first, some light not even seen. Some lights burn out like a meteor. Other pass though like a comet. Some shine on and on, like a star. (But a star’s today is really its yesterday. What we see is old.) Some light hard to pin down.

One reason: the light swings in the storm. It makes quantum changes. It gets jostled and jolted. Glimpsed through bad times. This lantern child born the day after a terrible storm. It snowed across three states and the usually mundane eight hour interstate trip to Cleveland the night of her birth took twelve. It was an early snow, too. In October. The storm piled up danger and challenged the innocents. Booming, buzzing, it swirled everywherewithout stopping, weighing the branches, piercing the shadows, dividing and blinding the light, and threatening the balance of peace. Its soft center settling in a hard place.

 

Gullah women, planting rice, circa 1911

 

A Libra, with her moon in Sagittarius rising, her hairy head crowned before they rushed to wheel her into delivery. I was barely gowned. With the tiny flat locks of her hair swirling like the stone clouds above the west entrance to Washington’s National Cathedral, she emerged, chanting loudly, suddenly quieting after she was spot cleaned and given to me. As I held her I noticed there was blood above her winking, recognizing eye.

Ten minutes later, with her still smiling in my arms, in triumphant procession, we returned down the hall to the room. She had her first meal, a quick lunch. So fortified, we all instantly fell asleep.

My daughter, the lantern child. Her name: Damali. East African in origin, actually Arabic, it means “Beautiful vision.”

       The name Damali shows up among east coast children in the early 70’s. Today, east and west coast, women--writers, fashion designers, athletes--share her name and rubric.

Her middle name, Chou (“Jo”), is for the Chinese premier and foreign minister Chou En Lai, the eldest adopted son of a middle class Chinese family from Jiangsu province born 1898, a student activist who led demonstrations in Japan and France, and made short visits to Germany and England.  Chou helped lead the legendary 4,900 mile Long March across the mountains through some of the toughest terrain of Northern China during the bitter winter of 1934-35. More than half of the phalanx of 90,000 supporters died from starvation or exposure along the way. This fabled retreat, which looked at first like a devastating defeat, radically changed the course of China’s history. The retreat created a route to power for Chou and other Chinese leaders. 

        Second to Mao in China, Chou survived, thwarted, and exposed more coup attempts to remove him from political power than any other leader in the 20^th century. His pragmatic views helped open the doors for American rapprochement. His policies initiated the road to reform in China after his death in 1976--the year before Damali was born.

        The light was called even as she was named. It began to prepare her for tests that would be still unforeseen.

          Of course, every family since (and before) Dr. Spock looks for the appropriate developmental features: the appearance of personality, the first steps, the baby's likes and dislikes. But psychology is about face and ego, biology and training, social advantages, money and power. The Gullah elders stress attention to the deeper markings, to the terrain of the inner path. Tucked into the shadows of a smile is a secret reflection of the Grand Scheme, invisible, impenetrable in the thicket of life, which is its shelter.

Few elders are left who can guide themselves to the source of the righteous claim and access the plan. Few can guide the very young in accord with these gifts, who know what to look for on the journey. Few can find it when it’s fresh and tend it.

Chou En-Lai

The trick, the elders say, is finding the signs. Unfortunately, these signs are more like connections. They signal a coming together of several different experiences or events.  They are a diverse set of responses that easily slide by without anyone getting it right. This complex of faith doesn't mesh well with the new mothers’ segments on cable talk shows. In fact it frightens mothers whose own spirits have been dulled unloading mini-vans on their asphalt driveways. It makes them shudder that this mystic, nurtured spark might be more important than the right nursery school.

I was a kid when I first stumbled on my first witness of the true meaning and fulfillment of this mystic view. I also become aware of how the two world views-- (1) one, directed by social choices and task success), (2) two, focused on spiritual connections with embedded trials and rewards—were often confusingly assigned, and often referred to the same role. Later, I became aware of the huge struggle it takes for a people to maintain a world view. Holding on to beliefs means acting against forces seeking to alter your way of life. Protecting your identity means nourishing your roots, even in a hostile world. The Gullah story is about nourishing these roots, understanding how to furnish the mystic view.

Stirring the Pot

My case in point was Mrs. Lucy Washington, the head cook at the black elementary school I attended. I loved food, and Mrs. Lucy Washington cooked food that I loved. Her school lunches were better than anybody's cooking that I knew in the whole world. My mother, never jealous or put off by my praise and devotion to Mrs. Washington's school lunch, was eager to hear, as I got off of the school bus, the epicurean delight of the day. My mother took an active interest in this high point, because she loved food, loved me, and believed in my judgment and taste. So empowered, together we shared, revered, and celebrated the gifts of Mrs. Lucy as I described her daily triumphs in the school cafeteria. Mrs. Lucy Washington was a cook (worldview one) and she could cook (worldview two). She brought something special to the process that magically transformed the outcome.

        What she did with food was rooted in spiritual connections. Cooking was her gift, an irrevocable talent assigned with her fiber so as to be as natural as breathing, as commonplace as sunshine, except that every meal was Christmas Day.

For ten years, the cafeteria was like the New York Stock Exchange. We students traded tuna salad, meatloaf, and fish sticks, but the currency were her breads--her fresh hot corn biscuits (with whole corn), peanut butter muffins, blueberry muffins, and cherry upside cake. Our trades had real value. Two biscuits for an entree was a common measure. We established a community around her food, and found something special in each other, a bond we shared, enriched by our differences.

The proverb about the whole village doesn't do justice to Mrs. Lucy’s single-handed work. Daily she brought us under her teachings. Through her simple but extraordinary fare she taught us non-verbal lessons about pride, love, faith, and sharing. Though her food we learned about community, caring, preparation, respect, thanksgiving, and gifts.

Of those who gathered at Ms. Lucy’s welcome table, one of the Faust twins was killed in a New York shoot-out. Gerald spent time in Guam as a federal personnel specialist. Danny, her son, lived in Germany for a while. He is a professional baritone, and sings on all the world's great stages, including Carnegie Hall. Back then, none of us knew two hundred years before, colonial cookbooks treasured African dishes like groundnut or bennie soup, baked guinea squash (eggplant), or a classic French preparation of African favorite, “okra a la Daube.” We did not know about Oscar, the Gullah manservant who,” for liberty,” cooked the legendary sweet potato dinner for Francis Marion, “the Swamp Fox,” and a British officer.

We did not know the legacy of the light that Mrs. Lucy carried for such a long term. I worked out front in food, especially in fine dining, working high profile doors, country clubs, resorts, and private rooms at places like the World Bank. I produced the Sunday jazz brunch at Alice’s Fine Foods on King Street for a couple of years. We had people coming from Germany and Japan. Alice Warren was from Walterboro, and her food was the top of the game in this town. I sold her collards and hoppin’ John for the millennium First Night. I’ve seen buses from Florida clean out her buffet. But my mind always goes back to Mrs. Lucy’s lunch. There are days when the single thought of a bite of her breads are enough to sustain me through the crush of a world that has left me starved for so much.

The Mother Tongue

People who know Gullah at all, think of it as speech. It is a language. It is the only language unique to the northern mainland of the New World, other than those spoken by Native Americans. The Gullah people—Africans from the Senegambia, Ghana, the Congo, Angola and everywhere else—created this language. They combined African grammar and words with English vocabulary to create a Creole language, similar to the Creoles developed in Jamaica, Nigeria, Haiti, Sierra Leone and elsewhere.

The Gullah kept Africa alive as they named their children. Cudjo and Juba, Cuffe and Phibba, Quashee and Quasheba were “day” names for men and women (Monday, Thursday, and Sunday). Quash and Mingo are male names from Africa. Binah (country born), Rinah, Tinah, Juba, and Foobea are women’s names.

In their speech and way of talking--in their everyday practices and conversations, in the choice of their children’s names--the Gullah people reflect a special way of thinking. (Worldview two: the belief that the world is linked, that God gives out talents and tasks.) So Gullah the language has rules for grammar and syntax. But Gullah language also invites personalities, places, context, colorful details, and pronunciations, and style to stir its speech. Gullah loves relationships and indirection. In Gullah, daybreak was called “day clean.”  “Long mout’ ” meant a person is upset. “He han’ shaht pay’shun” (his hand has short patience) means he steals! 

“Massa” and “mastuh” separated God (the latter) from the slave master. “Plenty Good Room,” a spiritual, spoke of God’s wonderful abundance. It joyfully celebrated the wide net of his forgiveness, and the large and small craft of God, built into life and heaven without hands. And who knew that the American words, okra, yam, goober, okay, jive, or South Carolina towns and rivers like Alcolu, Ashepoo, Cainhoy and Wapoo would have African origins!

The Gullah language became the accent of local speech in Charleston. A transplanted local columnist (Ashley Cooper, a nom de plume) captured its humor of misunderstanding.
Ball—to heat a liquid until it becomes a gas.
His Zone--ownership or possession, i.e., the car is “his zone.”
Arm—a personal action, i.e., “I am” going to the movies later.
Feel—an open space, cultivated land, a space where forces interact.
Groan—increasing in size. He is so “groan.”

And two words from the glossary of Alphonso Brown, a Charleston tour guide who hosts a Gullah driving tour:
B’un (bun)--to burn. “Her b’un de biscuits.”
F’aid (fade)—to have fear.  “He f’aid ob haints.”

And “boogie” is derived from a word in the Ki-Kongo language (“m’bugi”), meaning to feel good.

 

 

 

 

 

“Deep South,” 1940

 

William Henry Johnson, b. Florence, SC, 1901

Johnson once said, “My aim is to express in a natural way what I feel, what is in me, both rhythmically and spiritually; all that which in time has been saved up in my family of tradition, and which is now concentrated in me.”

 

Gullah folklore taught virtues and ethics by being indirect. But the Gullah took great care to make sure indirection was not deception. If you were misled, it was by your own thinking and desires, by your choice of the wrong option. Of course you were enticed, that too was often the source of humor, especially in animal stories and in real life.

In contrast, the humor in Haiti is often sarcastic. The Haitians love dry irony, a macabre wit, the sting of dismissal.  The Haitians had a saying derived from a religious pract