Journey Home: Passage to Womanhood

Tamara’s Disappointment

Tat-a-tat-tat. Tat-a-tat-tat, Jessica was unconsciously striking her fingertips against the hard wood of her desk. Squirming in her seat, she bit her lower lip nervously and looked up at the clock for the third time in ten minutes. She had to think quickly but her mind was a complete blank.

Jessica was in her eleventh grade history class and the teacher had asked each student to tell the rest of the class where their ancestors came from. All Jessica knew was that her ancestors came from Africa and had been enslaved in the U.S. for what seemed to her like an eternity. What could she say about Africa that would make her proud?

Jessica looked around the room at the other students in her class. There were twentytwo of them. Five of her classmates were African American, but they were scattered around the room. She couldn’t pass a note to one of them without being caught. Jessica sighed.

One by one, row by row, each student spoke about his or her family origins. They all seemed to have ties to Europe. Some of them could identify the towns their ancestors lived in 200 years ago.

One girl even said that her family traced themselves back to Queen Isabella of Spain—the same queen who sponsored Christopher Columbus’ voyage to America! The others were eagerly awaiting their turn. They sat upright, attentive, and ready to have their say.

Jessica turned to look at the five other African American students in the room. If the teacher, Mrs. Carlson, continued to call on each student by seating order, Jessica knew she would be next. From the corner of her eye, she could see Andrew to the far right. He didn’t look upset. Then Jessica remembered that Andrew’s family was from Barbados. His parents came to America of their own free will. They were never held in slavery, at least not in America.

Jessica’s thoughts were interrupted by applause. Gina, who was sitting two rows ahead, had completed her talk. She was born in Peru, but moved with her parents to the U.S. when she was six years old. Jessica had just assumed that Gina was African American, but now she wasn’t sure.

Still, Aunt Mildred had said that African people lived in many other parts of the world besides Africa, the United States, and the Caribbean. Whatever she was, Gina seemed to be very proud to be Peruvian. Jessica would have to say that her ancestors were brought from Africa in chains to become slaves in America.

Karen was speaking now. She was seated directly in front of Jessica. Jessica fidgeted in her seat. Her eyes darted quickly around the room in search of a miracle. Erica and Joseph seemed to be suffering through this as much as she was. Erica had buried her head in her chest so that she didn’t have to look anyone in the eye. Beads of perspiration were forming on Joseph’s forehead, in spite of the cool temperature.

Erica raised her eyes without lifting her head and encountered Jessica’s inquiring gaze.

What are you going to say? she whispered, barely moving her lips.

I don’t know, Jessica whispered back as she glanced a fourth time at the clock. The tension of the past ten minutes showed on her face. There were only five minutes left of class, and there was no telling how much longer Karen would go. If only Karen would continue to talk.

Ring-g-g-g. Jessica breathed a sigh of relief at the welcomed sound of the bell. This history period was O-V-E-R. She wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring, but for now, she could escape the torment of the past forty minutes.

She hurried down the hall toward her locker trying to put as much space between her and Mrs. Carlson’s class as possible. Maybe that’s the real reason she didn’t hear her name drifting through the noisy halls of Franklin High School.

Jessica, Jessica Cannon, hang on a minute! Mr. Anderson had increased his pace to a brisk walk and was now only a few feet behind her. Jessica slowed her steps and turned around with a puzzled look on her face. Everyone seemed to be hurrying somewhere, except Mr. Anderson.

Mr. Anderson, were you calling me? Jessica asked.

All the way from room 301. I think you dropped this. Jessica looked blankly at the history book Mr. Anderson was holding in his outstretched arms.

Thank you. I didn’t realize I had dropped it, she said sheepishly.

You seemed to be deep in thought. I’ve been trying to get your attention since you bolted out of Mrs. Carlson’s room.

Mr. Anderson was one of four African American teachers at Franklin High. Many of the girls in school had a crush on him. He was young, good-looking, and easy to talk to. In class he was a no-nonsense type. He expected the best from his students. He organized the school chess club and got several of the African American students involved in it. Although Jessica hadn’t yet been in one of his math classes, those who had thought he was cool.

Is anything wrong? he asked.

Yes…no…well…maybe, fumbled Jessica, not knowing what to say. She was fighting hard to hold back the tears. Jessica blinked rapidly and hurriedly brushed the sleeve of her blouse across her moist eyes in a brave attempt to conquer her rebellious tears. She was a tall girl, and almost met Mr. Anderson eye to eye. He pretended not to notice the tears in Jessica’s eyes.

Come with me, he said gently, leading the way down the crowded hall. We can talk in my room.

Trigonometry problems were still on the blackboard from his last class. Jessica thought the mathematical symbols looked like hieroglyphics. There were posters of African people all around the room. Mr. Anderson noticed Jessica’s interest in the posters.

I like to place posters of African scientists and mathematicians around the room. They show my students that Africans were rulers and scholars in ancient times, Mr. Anderson said.

They were? Jessica asked.

Of course they were, Mr. Anderson replied. The poster you are looking at now is a drawing of Amanitora. She was the Queen of Kush, an ancient African kingdom. To her right is Imhotep. He was an Egyptian physician and architect. Imhotep lived several thousand years ago, around 2700 B.C. He was the architect of many temples, including the famous Step Pyramid.

Wow! I didn’t know Africans designed the pyramids. I thought they were only used for slave labor.

Many of my students are surprised to learn that Africans were more than slaves.

Jessica looked down at her feet. That’s why I was so upset in history class, she mumbled. She told Mr. Anderson what had happened, and how embarrassed she was to have to say that her ancestors were slaves. He listened intently, and when she finished, he said, Our history didn’t begin with slavery. Our African ancestors created a great civilization that was greatly admired and respected throughout the world.

Mr. Anderson told her that Africans were the first mathematicians and astronomers. They invented the calendar. He pointed to Taharka and Ahmed Baba, whose colorful pictures were positioned next to each other near the entrance to the room. Taharka was an important African pharaoh in Nubia and Ahmed Baba was a well-known African teacher and scholar in the ancient kingdom of Songhay on Africa’s West Coast.

Jessica felt her mood change as she listened to Mr. Anderson describe her ancestors’ accomplishments. Eyes that brimmed with tears a moment earlier were now twinkling with pride.

African Americans also have a glorious history in this country, Mr. Anderson continued. They were homesteaders in this very state of Kansas after the Civil War.

But I thought only white people went West and became cowboys, Jessica said.

No, Mr. Anderson corrected. There were black cowboys and other black people who founded towns and built homes and businesses to start a new life for their families, right out of slavery. Many of them were homesteaders, people who traveled West and claimed land for themselves in the new territories.

Jessica was very excited when she left school that afternoon. She couldn’t wait to tell her family what she had learned.

That night at dinner, Jessica was surprised to learn that her own family had been homesteaders in the old West. My great-grandparents migrated to Kansas from Kentucky in the 1890s. They purchased land there and tried to make a better life for themselves. Our family still owns the land, Mrs. Cannon said.

You mean Aunt Ruby’s ranch? Jessica asked.

Yes. That property was settled by my great-grandparents, your great-great-grandparents, when they were newly wed. Aunt Ruby has the original deed to the land.

Jessica thought about all of the weekends and vacations she and her brother Max had spent on the ranch. They played in the orchard, went fishing in a nearby creek, and rode the horses. She never thought of the ranch as a part of her family’s history.

In fact, when your mother’s grandparents were still alive, Mr. Cannon added, we would visit them every Sunday at the ranch. They taught your mother how to make butter and beeswax candles. The quilt on Aunt Ruby’s bed was made by your great-grandmother.

It’s past time you and Max learn more about your ancestors, Mrs. Cannon said.

Aunt Ruby and I grew up knowing our family roots. Now it’s your turn.

Wow! Jessica exclaimed. I can’t wait. When do we start?

Well…we could go to Libertyville where all of the legal records are kept. You and Max spend all of your time on the ranch when you visit Ruby, but Libertyville is only a fifteen-minute walk from the ranch. It holds a very special place in our hearts because it was the first town founded by black people in Kansas, and it’s still run by African Americans today.

Jessica was elated by this news. That night, she decided that her final project in history would be about African American homesteaders in the old West. And she would include her ancestors in her report!

The band music faded to a soft hush as Jessica closed the door to the Libertyville Library. She stood at the entrance for a few minutes waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darker interior. The festive sounds of the town’s annual Founding Day celebration lingered in the quiet room. Jessica looked around and thought about the events that had led her here.

Although Libertyville was only seventy-five miles from Jessica’s home in Farmingdale, Kansas, she was just beginning to learn about its place in American history, and its place in her family. Following the discussion with her family at dinner, Jessica discovered that her great-great-grandfather had been a rancher. He and his wife had lived just outside Libertyville on their own ranch—the same ranch that Jessica’s aunt and uncle live on today.

Jessica learned that the land in the West held great promise for blacks in the 19th century. Much of it was in vast, unsettled territories, not yet states, and only sparsely populated. Many black