I’d been repeating this mantra all morning, pretending I’d also been breathing the same air of anticipation like everyone else on the Isle, Nana included. I’d been giving her side-eye all morning, checking if she’d show any signs of being weirded out about what had happened at the ass crack of dawn this morning. Maybe she had a reasonable explanation for what I thought I’d seen. But she acted like everything was normal. And if she was going to be like that, then I would be too. I was going to pretend the hell out of this day, if not for Nana, then for Naira and Sekou.
Today, Naira, Sekou, and I were graduating. Finally. Along with the other Isle seniors, we’d spent the last four years commuting by ferry twice a day, rain or shine, to attend Calibogue High on the mainland. I didn’t love much about the mainland. To me it was overrated, overpopulated, and very overstimulating. Too much of all that was draining. But today was different, and even I, the self-proclaimed eternal pessimist, felt flutters of excitement. The thought of walking the stage in a cap and gown, tasselswinging as I stepped toward something new—claimed something new—sent jolts through my chest. Graduating meant more time on the Isle together and less time dealing with obnoxious mainlanders who either thought we were an anomaly or a spectacle they wanted to explore and understand how we, descendants of formerly enslaved people, could own the Isle all by ourselves.
But whatever we wanted to do, we’d figure it out together and do it together, the three of us. Ever since we were little, Sekou, Naira, and I believed the Golden Isle was our whole world. Back then promises of staying on this little bit of land forever felt unbreakable. Like a friendship bracelet, threads woven together, swearing never to come apart.
I maneuvered our golf cart, the Isle’s preferred mode of transportation, through the small dirt roads leading to the public dock where we were supposed to meet up with the rest of the island’s families—both Kinfolk and non—to ferry over and attend the ceremony. Beside me, Nana Ama sat regal in her usual flowy skirt and peasant top. Folded neatly in her lap was her woven wrap of a dark blue traditional African cloth with asymmetrical lines of black, circles of white. She rarely went without a wrap, as the Isle’s climate shifted from hot to cold at the snap of a finger. Her wrists were adorned with bracelets of cowrie shells, not with the golden heirloom cuffs that had been in our family for generations. Those she normally saved for special ceremonies on the Isle.
She hummed an old tune that let me know her mood was a happy one. At least that made one of us. I studied Nana, wondering if there was anything at all she remembered from this morning, if there was anything she’d admit to. She was so good atpretending away problems. So good at putting things away in neat little boxes and focusing on the big picture.
That was not one of my gifts.
Matter of fact, aside from a little bit of intuition here and there, vibes about people or things, I didn’t know if I’d be a healer like Nana or something else. I couldn’t become Lighted. But that was a whole other story.
“Nana,” I started, making a right at the sign for the public pier. “This morning.”
Nana’s humming slowed to a stop, and she lifted her head from where her temple had been lightly resting on the tips of her fingers. She looked worn, like she hadn’t slept well. Well, neither had I, but at least I hadn’t been possessed by a creepy shadow figure. That was some next-level shit. Instantly, I was hit with guilt at the long day ahead and trying to make her talk when clearly she wasn’t at 100 percent. I considered turning the cart around, back toward home. Nana was pushing herself to be there for me. Going to the mainland and being around many people was draining for her.
“What about this morning?” There was slight edge to her tone. She looked at me expectantly, and any bravery I had mustered up melted away. If my grandmother was going to push herself to attend my graduation on the mainland and deal with people all day, the least I could do was hold my tongue.
“Never mind, Nana.” I pivoted, lightening my voice. “I hope you’re ready for a whole night of partying on the Isle. Maybe try some Peach Lightning if you…” I chose my words. “Decide to stay in tonight?”
She chuckled as I pulled the cart into our reserved parking spot by the docks. The ferry bobbing on the light waves was already full of a sea of blue. Grads on one ferry, family on the other.
“Nothing a cup of warmed coconut water or palm oil won’t cure.” She waited a beat, then snuck in, “I’m not messing with the brothers’ shit.”
Nana said it so smoothly her curse didn’t hit me until a second later, the shock of it causing me to stomp on the brake before the cart bumped hard into the stone parking marker.
“Nana Ama, are you alright?” I asked, shifting the cart in park and turning to her.
“Oho!” she said. “Stop your fuss. Worry about your awful driving!”
She brushed imaginary dust from her pristine flowy yellow skirt and then held out her dainty hand as I came around to her side. Her hazel eyes with flecks of deep gold, the same as mine, were full of amusement.
“Nana, when’d you learn to talk like that?” I asked, feigning shock.
“You don’t tell me what I do or don’t do, child.”
I did a quick check, wondering if anyone had heard. Ama was regarded as the mother of the Kinfolk. Though Golden Isle was all of the Kin’s, our family actually owned the land. Ours, along with the other founding families, had run from enslavers and come across an abandoned island off the coast of what’s now Hilton Head, South Carolina. It was named the Golden Isle for the fireflies on it who, the story says, had helped guide the way, and was a new life for them and generations after, for anyone who neededa safe space. The founding families had come from all parts of Africa, had maintained their various cultures and traditions, and could be traced back centuries, maybe longer.
When Nana stepped down, I would inherit the title of leader and the land, and according to homeland traditions that had been passed down for generations, I’d be enstooled in her place (if I ever got it together and managed to become Lighted), continuing the same traditions and cultures our ancestors sacrificed to keep alive. Aside from the deeds to land and traditional matriarchal systems that gave Nana Ama the title of leader, her healing gifts set her—and our island—apart.
Nana chuckled, low and earthy, unlocking the worry building in my chest. “Unclutch those pearls of yours, girl. There’s more to this old lady than you can imagine.”
I followed my grandmother, finally allowing the bug of excitement intermingling with the sweet and salty scent of the Isle to grab me too.
The Golden Isle’s famous peaches were first cultivated from Nana Ama’s tiny grove behind our home. The harvests had supported our family, and the Kinfolk, for decades. When the demand for Golden Isle fruit became too great for the small batches grown here, my grandmother purchased property on the mainland, where she established larger farms to support the demand, eventually building enough wealth to maintain the Isle, which my family had owned since way before my time. It was something unheard of back then, Nana often reminded me, a Black family owning land, much less a whole island. “Us owning the Isle, refusing to give it up, blew those white folks’ minds.” She’d laugh buther eyes never did. Then came the warning. “And it damn sure better stay that way.”
As graduation day went on, I thought about how hard it had been for me to get to this point. School was a struggle; tests weren’t my strength. Naira and Sekou helped get me through. Sekou was nearly a whiz at math, and Naira had an affinity for memorizing and loved reading and research. Even when I kept saying I wasn’t going to need stuff like trig and the five-paragraph essay.
“Not everyone is meant for college,” I’d once complained. “How is any of this even important?”
Sekou said, “You never know. You might change up and want to travel the world.”
I pulled a face. “Trig, though? Where?”
He shook his head. “Don’t worry about that one.”
I shuddered at the thought of college. Being confined within Calibogue’s walls with the fluorescent lights and the massive amounts of highly emotional teens was too chaotic and always wore me out. I needed sun and space and quiet to give me life. I needed the Isle. “We all know my place is at the Isle. That won’t change no matter what. This is my home. Like Nana.”
