AfroCarolina Correspondence #113: Homecoming
I’m afraid that we’ve been cut off from what makes us of this earth. That the red clay and African soil that live underneath our fingernails and behind our ears; that the seeds and grains of rice braided in our hair; the Odu, the stories and tales, even the nameless things nestled underneath our tongues are beginning to vanish.1
When my immediate surroundings become too heavy with this reality, I find grounding in my maternal homeland nestled in between the Pamlico and Tar rivers. These rivers hold a multitude of stories between them. One, an alleyway to freedom for fugitives from slavery. The other, bearing witness to the creation and destruction of a historic Black community in downtown Greenville- my grandmother’s, her mother’s, and her grandmother’s homeplace.
Last weekend I closed my eyes and found myself on a bus going back in time. We were celebrating the 164th homecoming of my grandmother’s church, Sycamore Hill Missionary Baptist. Our guides were two church elders, Mr. and Mrs. Harris, who navigated us through the streets of Greenville, conjuring up the town of their childhood.
Parking lots gave way to shotgun houses, the round patch of grass with the “Welcome to Eastern Carolina University” sign became the whites only city pool. I heard the sound of the old Sycamore Hill bell tower chiming somewhere in the distance. “These all used to be houses”, Mrs Harris points out as we slowly make our way down to the river.
She makes a point to clarify that the posthumous naming of the Black downtown Greenville neighborhood as the “Shore Drive Community” by city officials and historians alike was never what people who actually lived in the community called it.
“There was no beach or sand. A shore drive didn’t exist,” she says.
Archival photos show that there were patched up homes, and duplexes that held several generations. There were dirt roads, barefoot children, an oyster house, and the river caller who would holler down the street when boats came in on the dock. There was a communal watering hole and clay depot. The only downtown pool for Black children was the river where you either sunk or swam. There were the sycamore trees that surrounded the church and held it all in place. This was downtown; and it was beautiful, not because of any white sandy riverfront, but because it was ours. 2
On the corner of First and Green Street, the bus stops and we gather around what used to be the heart of Black Greenville. Now, there’s a riverfront park, white people with dogs, and a large glistening tombstone that they call an installation where the church was initially stood before being consumed by arson. On a nearby piece of stone there are two photos showing what the area looked like before and after the “urban renewal” that displaced the entire community. One with clusters of homes and businesses dotted along the river. The other, showing a blighted piece of land with not even a tree in sight. I can’t help but think about the morbidly similar photos that have come out of Gaza for the past year.
We gather in circle and the current pastor begins to pray:
I read the names of the 22 formerly enslaved founders and listen for the spirituals that must have reverberated from the hush harbor turned 164 year old spiritual institution. Again I wonder what the prayers and spiritual technologies of that time were, and if they could get us through the ring of fire that the world has become today.
A Letter to My Ancestors on Election Day, a poem I wrote during a writing workshop with Zelda Lockhart.
I have been on a year and half long journey, conducting oral history interviews and troubling the archive around downtown Greenville. You can learn more about this work in progress at https://www.crossroads-spirithouse.org/mckenney
Will do. Just let me your preferred email address to dstein@duke.edu
Fascinating post. Thanks for sharing it.
I'm a late-comer to your correspondence and was wondering if you have spent any time digging into the history of the Black beaches in North Carolina. The Young Scholars are studying the 1950s and will be making an extended field trip to explore the history of Seabreeze and Freemans beaches and I'm gathering resources now.