CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The younger kids zigzagged through the circles, holding trays of tiny shot glass–sized cups filled with a thick, dark liquid that everyone took. They downed the shots of liquid and returned the glasses to the trays. Nana Ama’s elixir, one she ground in her asanka, the earthenware grinding pot with rounds and rounds of ridges lining the inside walls against which she used a tapoli, a wooden masher, to mix ingredients for tinctures and medicines she provided whenever someone was ill or sought Nana Ama’s spiritual guidance or to start the elixir she gifted at every festival.
The distribution of the blessing, or Nana Ama’s elixir, was done with efficiency, barely putting a hiccup in the dancing and chanting, singing and praising. I plucked one of the shot glasses from the wide trays when it was offered to me, though I didn’t need it. I liked being able to do what everyone else was doing when they took a shot.
If I was on the outside looking in, I guess Nana’s elixir was like taking Communion. Only instead of a thin wafer and wine, orgrape juice, our homegrown solution was a concoction of peach nectar grown right from Nana’s grove on the Isle and some herbs and secret family ingredients. And it did more than act as a spiritual metaphor. This was Nana Ama’s blessing for the island. It fortified the islanders, like how the mainlanders took vitamin C to keep from getting a cold.
The music’s tempo increased and I downed the tiny shot offered to me. The taste was sweet at first, like drinking the nectar of a peach, and then spicy, like swallowing a hot fireball jawbreaker. I could feel it burn a trail all the way down to the pit of my belly, where it flared up inside and took over from the inside out.
I watched the dancers, then chanced a look at my grandmother. She motioned for me to go, and I didn’t wait.
Nana never joined the dancers, but it would be different when it was my time to lead. I wouldn’t be afraid.
I jumped off my chair and joined them. The tempo had moved from serious and ceremonial to celebratory. The elixir was beginning to take effect on everyone, livening them up as if they’d just taken a shot of caffeine, and I danced with them as the drumming increased. Those in the outer circle held large, body-length, thick staffs, stomping their feet and striking the bottom of their staffs to the ground in time with their stomps, which were in time with the pounding of the drums.
Nana Ama watched all of us, as she usually did, but it was like she wasn’t there, like her heart wasn’t totally into it. I kept dancing, singing with the rest of the Kin. I let myself get lost in all of it. But something was off and I couldn’t place it. The feeling of unease and of being watched.
My body kept moving with the music, but my eyes scanned the trees surrounding us, picking through the flickering ring of torches at the outer perimeter of the ceremonial circle, their flames lapping at the humid air like hungry dogs, swirling lines of smoke stretching to the sky from them. I peered into the trees, trying to siphon from it the thing that didn’t belong.
Nothing was there. I forced myself to refocus on paying proper respect to my ancestors. I certainly didn’t want them coming after me for not honoring them in the way they were used to. The ancestors could be petty and vindictive like that if they wanted.
The music, the dancing, and the chanting increased. Songs asking the gods for goodwill and fortune, for good health and love, for security and an abundance of crops. The circles began turning in opposite directions, one going this way and the other going that way. Coming together in unison and then spreading apart. The blessing rejuvenated everyone, and they danced faster and harder. A once cool night ratcheted up in degrees and the whole place felt like a glorious sauna. Then they began slipping from the circles of dances to lay tributes at the base of Nyame’s stool. Nana Ama accepted them with a graceful nod and a small smile, giving everyone the little piece of her they wanted.
When she stood, I knew it was time for us to go. I began to snake my way through the crowd of people, some laying their honoring, most dancing and singing with their hands lifted in the air. I drew closer to the tree and to my grandmother as a hush rippled over the Kinfolk and the drums softened to barely a bump, yet still maintained their slow, steady rhythm.
“On this night, the Thursday of our Harvest Festival, the nightI share my blessings with all of you, we pay tribute to all the ancestors who came before us and make way for all descendants who will come after. We ask for safety and sanctuary against any who wish us harm and ask our ancestors, Nyame, and the gods of the upper realm to continue bestowing their blessings on us, Kinfolk and all who reside here and step foot on this land. Most of all, we thank our ancestors for the nourishment they have given us.”
She considered the crowd in front of her, taking them in. Beautiful Blackness in all different hues and cultures of the African and American diaspora. She raised her arms to them. “Honor our nsamanfo, my family, and welcome the good from the Asamando while the veil is thin and they can walk alongside of us.”
The Kin cheered up to the sky and bared their teeth, stained red from the elixir in the firelight.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
It was time. Silently my grandmother and I extracted ourselves from the celebration and walked into the woods.
The night air crackled with energy from the increasing music and singing coming from the square where the Kin still danced, deep in their celebration. My skin tingled and my breathing quickened, as I tried to tell myself I was finally ready and worthy of Lighting. This time I would be able to accept the gifts of my legacy that hadn’t manifested themselves in their entirety.
We walked deeper until we couldn’t be seen or heard, the transference that was about to happen sacred. Where I could accept my full gifts within the sanctity and protections from the island, and from my grandmother. It was dark, the light from the festival blotted out by the trees and dense foliage, leaving only the sky to offer dappled bits of light filtering through them.
I took my cue from her, every one of my senses amplified and ready for what came next. My grandmother studied me from within the shadows. Asking a whole lot of questions and looking as if she was leaving even more unsaid.
Nana Ama asked, “Are you ready?”
I took in a breath. “I am.” I had to be.
She watched me more intently, as if she were trying to read me.
But I wasn’t ready. I was terrified. What if I couldn’t do it, like all those other failed times, last year and the year before? A gift that was as unknown to my grandmother as it was to me because I wasn’t like her, one hundred percent. I was a first generation, only half of what I was supposed to be.
“To Light, you must truly consent and yield to it. You must truly want it.”
I nodded. I did want it. I had wanted it all my life, watching my grandmother and mother.
“Then Nyame be with you,” Nana said, smiling at me. “I will wait to celebrate you with our ancestors and our Kin.”
She was gone before I could blink, leaving me alone. I listened for sounds of her retreating footsteps, light as they were, knowing there would be none.Drive everything out. Leave only room to Light. Say yes. Accept it.I told myself all these things. Over and over.
I refocused on what was around me, the noise around me, or rather the quieting of noise. The rustling of the wind through the dense forest. The echoes of singing back at the Gathering Tree.
