Oh Freedom!

“And before I’d be a slave, I’d be buried in my grave, and go home to my Lord and be FREE!”

- Post-Civil War African-American freedom song

I have been watching the new series of ROOTS 2016. The horrible complexities of slavery and the raw history is unimaginable. Last year I traveled to Badagry, Nigeria and visited the Slave Museum and traveled the route the slaves took before entering the Point of No Return – the short space in time when their feet left the hot sands of the beach in Badagry and then stepped foot onto the great ships that took them away from all they knew across the great Atlantic Ocean.

At the museum we toured the small holding cells for the slaves. They would be put in a tight space and whoever survived these terrible conditions were then put up for sale. Two slaves would be shackled together at the ankles and oftentimes would have a heavy chain worn around the waist.

When sold, the slaves would have to travel across a lagoon in a small boat to the beach that leads to the Atlantic Ocean. The long walk must have been tortuous. Along the route is a magical well that the slaves were to drink from. It was said that the water from this well would erase their memory, erase any of their identity, pride and memories of home. They would continue the walk to the sandy beach, where the wind was blowing and the ocean crashed against the shore, unable to stop the crimes of the day.

While I dare not claim to know the suffering or pain of those great souls who were captured, tortured and sold into slavery, I can only empathize and know that we share universal pain through generations. I believe we carry in our DNA memories from the past and it is our responsibility to heal our current conditions as well as the deep generational pains passed onto us. Rape, abuse and violations have deep roots that we can heal today.

We may ask “Where did rape come from?” At what point in our family tree did this occur? I know that one of my Native American ancestors in New Mexico was sold to a German man to be his wife. I know that both of my parents suffered from incest, rape, molestation and domestic violence. How far back does it go? And why did it continue?

I was 14 years old on that night in April 1991 when my dad hit me for the first time across the face. Even though he had been molesting and raping me since I can remember at 4 years old, he had never hit me. I saw my life flash before my eyes. Was this my destiny as I got older to now become like my mother to him? I had watched him beat up my mom and heard the anger that exploded during their fights. I would be left paralyzed in my room, not sure of what I could do to stop him from hurting her. I felt so helpless and guilty that I did not have the courage to get out of my bed and tell him to stop beating her up. I would see the bruises, swollen lips, missing teeth and sadness in my mom’s eyes the next day. I would imagine running away as I lay there in the dark. In my mind I would carefully select what I would take, clothes and some snacks, and where I would walk to. I had imagined I would hold my belongings on a sack tied to a stick like I saw in the movies. I didn’t know where I would go, I just knew I needed to escape from this mess of a life!

That night in April 1991, I was taken to a police station because my friend called the police on my dad. I had a choice to go home or go to the station. I was afraid of my dad since he had never hit me before, I thought “What would happen if I went home?” After I told the police my story, I was put in foster care the next morning and my father was arrested.

In my first foster home I felt alienated and sad that I couldn’t go home or see my friends or my dog. It was a foreign land for me. The weekend before I was to testify against my father in court, I ran away. I did not want to face him and the courts. I did not want to be responsible for sending him to jail and for everyone hating me for telling all these terrible secrets. I called a friend after I sneaked out of the foster home and she dropped me off at another friend’s house where I hid out for a while. Eventually the foster mom tracked me down, and I was pressured that if I didn’t come back and show up in court I would be in BIG TROUBLE!

How scary must it have been for a lonely and hurt African staring up at the sky in a foreign land? What was it like every night with the pain of crying themselves to sleep, only to wake the next morning in a tortured life with no ability to escape? And when they made a run for it, only to be tracked down and brought back to never ending violence and suffering?

I pray for the generations before me that suffered rape and abuse. I pray they are healed. I pray for my current brothers and sisters suffering from memories and current abuses. I pray you are not alone. I pray you have peace and healing in your heart. I pray we remain strong and do not hold onto guilt and shame. I pray the stars protect us and guide us. I pray the sun and moon shine bright for us and comfort us. I pray our light shines continuously and that we know we are perfect and lovable and wanted and we have a purpose here now and forevermore. Amen.

I love you.