Anyone who knows me should know that I love documentaries. If this was the only movie genre left on earth, I would be good. Something about documentaries just stirs my soul – especially when they are about African American history. My latest spiritual experience happened as I watched High on the Hog: How African American Cuisine Transformed America on Netflix.
(Black Tv and Film)
This show is more of a limited docuseries that focuses on how food has shaped the African American culture and why it is about more than family recipes being passed down through generations. More importantly, however, is the significance of Black chefs and what they meant to America dating back to slavery. The chefs featured in this series from cities across America and countries in Africa, honor those special recipes by keeping them alive in their restaurants today.
Aside from the extraordinary recipes and delicious food that is showcased on this series, I was also blown away at how much of our (African Americans) history had been suppressed. This docuseries has been on Netflix for several months now, and if it hasn’t been a part of your viewing pleasure yet, you are in for a treat.
Watching this series, I couldn’t help but to feel grateful for having traced my own ancestry over 20 years ago. There is something entrancing about discovering the people from whence you came and what their lives were like.
I have always been interested in learning about my ancestors. Both of my parents were born in 1935 rural Mississippi, so there were plenty of stories to be told. I wondered what life was like for them as they were growing up, and I was also curious about who their grandparents and great-grandparents were. I’m not sure if I was the only child in my family who constantly asked these kinds of questions, but I do know that my parents engaged me with countless stories about growing up in the rural South. They were my inspiration when I penned my book series, Heaven’s Eyes.
Dr. Henry Louis Gates Jr. also sparked a lot of interest in family research by taking some famous Black public figures down memory lane with his PBS series, African American Lives (2006). Today, it is quite easy to trace one’s lineage with sites like ancestry.com and DNA kits like 23andMe. It’s amazing what using tools like these can do for a person. However, I still believe that nothing beats doing the actual leg work the good old-fashioned way. It just means more when you are the one asking the questions, doing the digging, and writing those stories down.
Tracing my family history transformed me. I felt like all the questions I had about my family tree were finally being answered. For example, while growing up, my father used to always tell me the story about my great-great grandfather, who was born in 1855 on a slave plantation in North Carolina. He was 10 years-old at the time of emancipation.
For years, that was just a story (props to oral history, though). Later, I did my own research to confirm those events. For many Black people, assuming that your ancestors were enslaved is one thing. But to actually discover that truth and see it in black and white is another. This experience alone was life altering. Here is a picture of the slave registry that shows a 4-year-old little boy who was owned by a woman named Ann Brown:
That little boy on the slave schedule is my great-great grandfather, William Brown. It is unclear which one of the slave women listed here was his mother, but I can make a guess as to who it may have been. Seeing this slave registry brought the story that I had been told many times to life.
When slavery ended, Grandpa William worked as a Blacksmith’s apprentice and later was a skilled Blacksmith himself. At some point in his early life, he met Winnie Avad-Chesnutt and they both came to Mississippi where they were married and started a family. This is the 1900 census that lists them and the children in their household:
In 2001, I had the privilege of interviewing William Brown’s daughter (my great-grandmother’s sister) when she was 103 years old. My great Aunt Rosa lived in Memphis, Tennessee and was a wealth of knowledge. She was as quick witted and sharp as a woman half her age. Here is a picture of me with Aunt Rosa (103 years) and her husband, my Uncle Sanco, who was 99 at the time:
I will never forget how excited she was to be photographed. I followed her to her bedroom where she proceeded to powder her face with a powder puff sponge as big as her head. After that, she put on a wig and said, “I’m 103 but I don’t want to look like I’m 150!” I laughed. But I also thought to myself that there would never be another excuse good enough for me to not look my best when it counts.
Aunt Rosa had 10 siblings – all of whom she remembered fondly. Not only did she remember them, but she was also able to recall every one of their birthdays! I left my aunt’s house that day feeling so proud and fortunate. I still have the recording of our conversation from that day. It, along with a coaster from her alma mater (of course she was a college graduate – hello?), is one of my most prized possessions from that trip:
It still amazes me that I sat and talked to a person who could utter the words: My parents were born slaves. It just solidified for me that slavery was not that long ago. My great Aunt Rosa lived to be 108, which amazed us all. I will never forget my time spent with her.
Back then, there were people who worked in the offices of vital records who would gladly help anyone trying to trace their history. I was always surprised at how willing these employees were to lend their assistance. I know it was their job, but I felt like there was something deeper going on.
I remember being on the computer into the wee hours of the morning during this time – combing through genealogy websites. I honestly felt the power of my ancestors helping me and cheering me on. I still get chills thinking about it.
I also had a chance to interview my maternal grandfather that year, who was 94 at the time. It was wonderful to hear some of the things that my mother told me as a child about her parents come straight from the source. Below is the 1910 census – my grandfather was 3 years-old at the time:
Don’t get me wrong, getting information and pictures from ancestry.com is also amazing – I have seen the joy that it brings to peoples’ eyes as they discover distant relatives. But nothing beats actually walking down those roads and visiting those places where your ancestors once resided.
I also talked to another great aunt on my father’s side, who once owned a café in 1950s Mississippi! She was kind enough to gift me with a few of the dishes that her customers once ate and drank from. They don’t make dishes like this anymore. I cherish them:
Traveling down South with my parents 20 years ago was one of the most important trips that I have ever taken. That journey taught me to never stop asking about my heritage. I learned back then the importance of talking to the elders in my family. You will be surprised at how much they will tell you – if you simply ask. There is so much that people don’t know about their family history because they never inquire.
That is why High on the Hog is such a powerful docuseries. You get a chance to witness Stephen Satterfield walk those roads and stand in those gardens. All of the people he met during the filming of this masterpiece continue to honor their ancestors in some form or another. I was moved by each episode.
When you know where you come from, it gives you a sense of power. It also makes you feel proud that you are carrying on the legacies of people who once hoped and dreamed that you would have a better life than they had.
I hope that you will be inspired to hit the ground running back to the past. When you understand where you’ve been, you can clearly see where you are, as well as the enormous possibilities that lie ahead.
Never stop asking questions. Honor your ancestors and discover their power in your life.