Keepers of Light: In Praise of Librarians by Octavia McBride-Ahebee

 

More than an image, this self-portrait of Patsy, is a testament to a life devoted to books, ideas, and community.

Too often we take for granted the spaces we enter without much thought, as if they are simply our right. That’s how I’ve always felt about libraries. I am especially proud of Philadelphia’s long history of free public libraries which is a tradition that is far from the norm in many places.

I think often of Patsy Kiros, this beautiful and elegant (without ever being stuffy) African-American woman from Toledo, Ohio, whose path I was lucky enough to cross in Côte d’Ivoire. Patsy was married to Mr. Kiros, an Eritrean gentleman. They had lived in Ethiopia during a very difficult time, before Eritrea gained its independence, and later moved to Abidjan, Côte d’Ivoire, where he represented Ethiopian Airlines, for the West African hub. Patsy became the chief librarian at the International Community School of Abidjan.

When I arrived there, still a new wife and mother after Sojourner’s birth, disoriented as a writer and teacher, Patsy welcomed me. She visited my classroom to understand my teaching style and what resources I needed, and then she invited me into her home. Over those lovely, intimate dinners with other American women and woman from literally across the globe, she gently asked me what I was most passionate about. Over many years, she did what true librarians do best, she listened, observed, researched, and then placed in my hands books, articles, and resources that connected directly to my intellectual life. Through Patsy, we never felt cut off from the cultural and academic explorations happening in the States and around the world. Even our awareness of Black arts and entertainment was kept alive through Ebony Magazine gatherings( *smile-those Ebony parties), where we shared issues that might have been months or years old, but still tethered us to home.

With Patsy, whose presence and passion for sharing knowledge shaped my journey as a writer and teacher.

Years later, when our lives were forever changed by political turmoil and the deaths of our husbands when she returned to Toledo and me to Philadelphia,Patsy’s generosity continued. When my first book of poetry was published, she immediately bought 50 copies for her book club and brought me, all expenses paid, to Toledo in 2005 to read at schools and community events. Mona Washington accompanied me on that unforgettable trip. Mona R. Washington

Before Patsy’s death in 2020, she knew her time was near. She sent me some of her favorite books and a self-portrait, which now hangs in my living room. Her eternal presence reminds me daily of the bounty of books, the joy of sharing ideas, and the way librarians can transform lives.

I thought of Patsy yesterday when Yero (Haj) told me he had finally worked up the courage to ask if there was a library in the detention center. I had recommended he inquire. The very idea of a space offering books for free was almost unimaginable to him. And yet, when he learned there was one, he was over the moon. He checked out two books; one even in French. What struck him most was not only that he was allowed to borrow them, but the kindness of the librarian.

In that moment, even within confinement, he felt a door open.

We can all be that kind of door for Yero ( Haj). Right now, he needs our support. Here’s how you can help:

Donate to his GoFundMe campaign: every dollar goes directly to his legal team fighting for his release. Here is the link: https://gofund.me/ea76afe0

*Shout to Mrs. Nargis Bhaloo; she and Patsy were a force as librarians at I.C.S.A. ICSA family do share any memories you have of Patsy.

Standing in Solidarity with African Detainees; Invisible in this ICE Crisis by Octavia McBride-Ahebee

With Phyllis, in Philipsburg, PA, standing in solidarity with hundreds of protesters just a few  miles from the Moshannon ICE Detention Center.

On Sunday, Phyllis and I traveled from Philadelphia to join hundreds of Pennsylvanians in Philipsburg, PA, near the Moshannon Valley Processing Center. Located about 4 hours from Philadelphia, Moshannon is the largest ICE detention facility in the Northeast and it is run for profit by the notorious GEO Group. It is here that our friend, Haj (Yero), a Mauritanian asylum seeker, is being held as he awaits his hearing.

Our journey was organized by Reclaim Philadelphia, a grassroots community organization working to build political power for everyday people. While the trip was long, the purpose was urgent: to stand in solidarity with those ICE has locked away, and to say loudly that they are not forgotten.

Many ICE detainees have lived and worked legally in the U.S.  African migrants , like our friend Haj, are being seized during their annual check-ins.

Phyllis speaks to a reporter, sharing how African migrants, many who live and work in our Philadelphia communities, are being disappeared by ICE.

For us, this fight is personal. As elder Black women, we carry the lived experience of knowing the “push factors” that propel migration. My paternal grandfather fled racial terror in South Carolina after the lynching of Anthony Crawford in 1916. He was very much a part of the Great Migration that brought millions of Black people north. Phyllis and I also come from a community devastated by mass incarceration, where generations of neighbors have known the pain of confinement and separation. These histories have made us deeply sympathetic to the plight of asylum seekers like Haj.

Too often, the public face of opposition to ICE detention is not people like us. But here we are, compelled by memory and solidarity.

Just a few weeks ago, the Germantown community rose up in defense of another detained neighbor, longtime resident and business owner Anou Vongbandith, also being held at Moshannon. Hundreds of his neighbors packed the streets demanding his release. Their outpouring of love was powerful.

A supporter of Anou Vongbandith holds a sign calling for his release and return to his community.

But Phyllis and I knew there were others at Moshannon whose stories rarely reach the public eye: West African men, many French-speaking or speakers of Indigenous languages, who feel abandoned and forgotten. ICE is woefully unequipped to provide interpreters for these detainees, leaving them further isolated. Families often fear sending money or making contact, worried that any link to their loved one will bring ICE scrutiny on themselves.

So we try, in our own ways, to bridge the gap. We participate in Drexel University’s Inside/Outside Prison Letter Writing Project, where dozens of students recently wrote letters of encouragement to Haj and his fellow African detainees. When Haj called to tell me he had received the letters, he sounded like a giddy child, thrilled that someone had remembered him. In turn, when we or others send money for his commissary, Haj shares it with fellow detainees who receive nothing from the outside.

Haj’s story is emblematic of the injustice of this system. Before his detention, he was a worker in a University City restaurant, where he had once served at a fundraiser hosted by Reclaim Philadelphia. It was an event featuring speakers like District Attorney Larry Krasner. Haj was moved by the gathering, its inclusivity, and its vision for justice. He longed to participate in such civic life himself. Instead, during his annual ICE check-in, an appointment he had attended faithfully each year while legally living and working in the U.S., he was suddenly detained.

This sign reflects the urgency and moral weight of this struggle.

He is seeking protection from Mauritania, where dark-skinned Africans remain oppressed by a light-skinned Arab-Berber elite, trapped in a hierarchy that has denied them freedom for generations. Though slavery was officially abolished in 1981, it continues in practice, and those who resist face persecution.

After Saturday’s rally, Haj called me while we were boarding the bus to return home. The bus of protestors shouted to Haj, who was juts a few miles from where our bus was parked, “We are with you,” they told him, joining the voices of State Representative Christopher Rabb and Reclaim leaders Seth Anderson-Oberman and Jayson Massey, who helped to organize and participated in Sunday’s protest. 

A protester in Philipsburg reminds us that migration is human, not a crime.

We came home exhausted, but with renewed conviction. Standing with detainees like Haj is not charity. It is solidarity, rooted in our own histories of forced migration and incarceration. And we will keep showing up until justice is won.

We have also started a GoFundMe campaign to raise funds for his legal defense. Donations go directly to his lawyer and are being used to hire an asylum expert, cover translation of official documents from Mauritania, and pay for filings and other case-related expenses.

To learn more and to contribute to Haj’s legal defense, please visit the GoFundMe page:

https://gofund.me/ea76afe0

Letters of Joy, Stories of Urgency by Octavia McBrid-Ahebee

Slavery's Last Stronghold

Click here to view: Slavery's Last Stronghold

Yesterday I received good news that lifted my heart. Yero told me he received the letters from the Drexel University students who regularly participate in the Inside/Outside Prison Letter Writing Project. Some of you may remember when I shared Yero’s story with them and asked that they write to him and other African detainees.

The students did just that.

Drexel students write letters of encouragement for Yero and other detained asylum seekers.

When Yero shared the news with me, he sounded like a giddy kid. He was so full of excitement and joy. Their words of encouragement reached him, and he felt remembered, cared for, and human. These letters are proof of how small acts of solidarity can bring light into the darkest places.

But while letters bring hope, they don’t erase the reality that forced Yero to flee Mauritania in the first place. Many of you have asked, what exactly is happening in Mauritania? To help answer that, I want to share this short CNN documentary( * See above ) that exposes the persistence of slavery there, despite it being officially abolished in 1981. Please take a few minutes to watch.

This is the system Yero is escaping . It is one where dark-skinned Africans remain oppressed and targeted by the light-skinned Arab-Berber elite, trapped in a hierarchy that has denied them freedom and dignity for generations.

By supporting Yero’s legal defense fund, we are not only giving him the chance at freedom here, but we are also sending a message: we see, we understand, and we will act.

Please share this campaign with your networks, donate if you can, and help us widen the circle of care. Letters of encouragement give hope. Donations for legal defense create change. Together, they make freedom possible.

Go Fund Me link: https://gofund.me/ea76afe0

A Legacy of Radical Compassion by Octavia McBride-Ahebee

 

Me and my mom, Sallie — my first teacher in radical generosity.

*Support the GoFundMe campaign!

My mother, Sallie, though fundamentalist in her faith, was a radical woman in her acts of kindness and generosity. Here is one example across a lifetime. I remember so vividly the early years of the AIDS epidemic in the 1980s. These were dark times. Every sector of society was impacted, but Black men living with or dying from AIDS were especially abandoned. Resources were scarce, and fear and stigma were everywhere. People living with AIDS were treated like lepers to be avoided.

One day, I came to my family home, after being away for a period, to find my mother in the kitchen with her Dick Gregory cookbook, juicing carrots into mason jars and baking her famous apple pies. She asked me to go with her on an errand. I didn’t know where we were headed until she pulled up to a house in West Philadelphia known as Calcutta House.

Inside were four or five beautiful Black men, who were thin, frail, some in wheelchairs, all clearly ill. This place was a kind of hospice where people came to die. When my mom walked in, whispers filled the room: “Miss Sallie, Miss Sallie is here.” Some even called her Mom. A nun appeared to help her carry in the pies and juice, and soon one gentleman asked for one of her famous scalp rubs. My mother washed her hands, slipped on latex gloves, and with extraordinary care, began massaging his head.

We were in a living room space, and while my mother worked that gentleman's head, she told the residents about her flower garden, the birds she had watched that morning in her birdbath, and the pies she baked for them. She refused to let their world be defined only by fear and sorrow. She came there with her singular, Sallie joy.

She asked for the Langston Hughes book she had given them, and one of the men went to retrieve it. After finishing the scalp massage, she removed her gloves, sat down among them, and read aloud one of her favorite poems by Hughes- "The Negro Mother". She had discovered Hughes when I was a student at Overbrook Elementary, under the guidance of the great teacher Mrs. Rose Martin. Some of the residents also took turns, reading aloud passages they loved or reciting poems they remembered learning in school. For a while, the room was filled not with fear, but with words, memory, and the affirmations of poetry.

Before leaving, she promised to go to Sears, to buy them a birdbath for their yard, so they too could begin their mornings watching the antics of birds. And she did.

My mother’s compassion was radical because it defied fear as was the compassion of those devoted nuns. At a time when people recoiled from touching those living with AIDS, my mother, hugged them, massaged their scalps, baked them pies, and read them poetry. She believed joy was a right, even for those whom society had abandoned.

Her example reminds me why I fight today for Yero and other detained Black immigrants. Too often, their stories go untold, and they are left invisible. But just like my mother showed, dignity, compassion, and solidarity are not optional; they are acts of survival.

“We are each other’s harvest:

we are each other’s business:

we are each other’s magnitude and bond.”

— Gwendolyn Brooks

Please support Yero’s campaign and learn about his fight for his freedom. Share it, donate if you can, and help us widen the circle of care.

https://gofund.me/ea76afe0

Neighbors, Not Strangers: Building Solidarity Beyond Detention by Octavia McBride-Ahebee

 

*Also check out the art work of SBrownART on Etsy

*Support the GoFundMe campaign!

Update & Call to Action

Friends, I’m grateful to share that the funds we’ve raised so far will begin to cover two critical areas:

Hiring an asylum expert to testify on country conditions and persecution in Mauritania.

Paying a translator to prepare official documents from Mauritania for court.

This is a powerful start, but it is only a beginning. Much more is needed to sustain this work and give Yero a fair chance.

Just last weekend, more than 500 neighbors, faith leaders, and community members filled the streets of Germantown to demand freedom for Anou Vongbandith, a beloved neighbor detained by ICE. That outpouring reminds us that in Philadelphia, we stand up for our own. We will not allow ICE or private prison profiteers to quietly tear families apart.

And yet, too often, Black detainees receive little public exposure about their plight. Their stories often remain hidden, while the machinery of detention continues unchecked. This campaign is one way to break that silence and stand with our neighbors in full view of the community.

Now we need your help to widen the circle of solidarity. Please share this campaign with your networks and invite others to give. Every share and every donation, no matter the size, builds the path toward justice and freedom.

All funds go directly to Yero's defense team: https://gofund.me/ea76afe0

Boarding Houses, HBCUs, and the Seeds of a Global Vision/ Lincoln University of PA by Octavia McBride-Ahebee

*Support the GoFundMe campaign!

Yesterday I shared why my paternal grandfather fled South Carolina in the shadow of racial terror and made his way to Philadelphia. Two of his siblings followed, including his sister Emma, who would become the beloved Aunt Emma of family stories.

Student Kwame Nkrumah, would go on to become the 1st Prime Minister of Ghana, surrounded by fellow students at Lincoln University.

Aunt Emma ran a boarding house in Oxford, Pennsylvania, home to Lincoln University which is one of the two Historically Black Colleges and Universities located in the North. Her boarding house ( think the movie" Lackawanna Blues ", 2005, but on a black collegiate level) was filled almost exclusively with African students studying at Lincoln. Many of them would later become leaders in Africa’s anti-colonial movements.

Nnamdi Azikiwe arrived in the United States in 1925 and earned bachelor’s and master’s degrees from Lincoln University by 1930.

As a teen visiting Aunt Emma in the 1940s, my father was captivated. He had already encountered Philadelphia’s Black professionals and intellectuals, but it was the African students, who were kind, curious, and eager to share stories of their homelands and independence struggles that left, too, an indelible mark on him. Aunt Emma herself was at the center of those conversations, drawing direct links between the Black American freedom struggle and the African liberation movements.

Saara Kuugongelwa-Amadhila is a Lincoln University graduate and the first woman prime minster of Namibia.

Those summers in Oxford sparked a lifelong openness in my father toward Africa. In our home in the 1970s, I grew up with a poster of Africa’s first post-colonial leaders hanging on the wall in my father's home office. I memorized their names, independence dates, and turned to our Encyclopedia Britannica ( remember those) to learn more. I still remember being 8 years old when S. McDowell Shelton, a Philadelphia church leader and family acquaintance, returned from a world tour where he had met Emperor Haile Selassie of Ethiopia. Suddenly the names on that poster felt alive, reachable. I realized Africa was not just history on a wall, but a living place one could travel to, learn from, and love.

Me and crew, with Carla Boykin, 1981, Maseru, Lesotho

By 1981, through Operation Crossroads Africa, I found myself in Southern Africa, visiting Lesotho, apartheid South Africa, Botswana and a very newly independent Zimbabwe. That summer reshaped my life. Years later and many African countries explored, I married and settled in Côte d’Ivoire. My father finally fulfilled his dream when he visited me in West Africa several times, using it as a launching point to explore more of the continent.

My dad, the best dad, Theodore McBride, me and little Sojourner, in 1999, visiting the Basilica of Our Lady of Peace, in Yamoussoukro, Cote d'Ivoire.

All of this, starting with Aunt Emma’s boarding house, the kindness of strangers, the courage of students, the shared struggles of Black Americans and Africans, reminds me of the power of welcome. The power of imagination. The power of believing in one another’s futures.

That is exactly why I ask you to join me in supporting the campaign for Yero’s legal defense. His journey, too, is part of this long tradition of seeking freedom, safety, and dignity. Just as my father’s life was transformed by the generosity of African students at an HBCU, we can transform a life today by showing solidarity across borders.

All funds go directly to his attorney’s office. Please give what you can; every gift matters. Here is the link: https://gofund.me/ea76afe0

Please encourage others to give.

Why I Understand the Push to Flee by Octavia McBride-Ahebee

*Support the GoFundMe campaign!

*Photo: This portrait of my grandparents( this is James, Sr.) hangs at the entry of my home. They protect me still. I bring them daily water and sprigs of green life to feed their desires which in turn bless me.

A question I often hear is: Why are immigrants and asylum seekers coming here? Many assume it’s only for financial or economic gain. But the reality is far more complex—and far more urgent. People flee not just for opportunity, but for survival. They flee violence, persecution, and systems that crush human dignity.

I understand this deeply, because my compassion comes from my ancestors who themselves were forced to make such choices. One of the push factors that drove my paternal grandfather, James Marshall McBride, Sr., to leave his home in Abbeville, South Carolina, was the 1916 lynching of Anthony Crawford, a substantial Black landowner like my great-grandfather. My grandfather was just 19 when he fled his family’s land and eventually made his way to Philadelphia.

We cannot imagine the fear and dread such a brutal, dehumanizing event created throughout the area. For those who stayed, the trauma lingered for generations. For those, like my grandfather, who fled, it meant starting over in a new place, carrying both grief and hope. Many decades later, my extended family and I visited that very land he had fled. We listened to stories from residents whose parents and grandparents had stayed, and we understood more clearly why a generation of Black people left Abbeville behind.

This is why I stand with people like Yero, who also fled gross, institutional violence in Mauritania, where dark-skinned Africans remain oppressed by a system of slavery and ethnic persecution. Just as my grandfather had to make an impossible choice in order to live, Yero too seeks not wealth, but safety, dignity, and a future free from violence.

By supporting Yero’s legal defense fund, we stand in a long tradition of solidarity, recognizing that migration, whether across states or across oceans, has always been about survival, resilience, and the pursuit of freedom.

Please contribute today to Yero’s GoFundMe. Any amount helps. Donations go directly to his attorney’s office to cover legal fees. Here is the link: https://gofund.me/ea76afe0

*

Honoring Our Migration Stories by Standing With Yero by Octavia McBride-Ahebee

*Support the GoFundMe campaign!

Artwork- Jacob Lawrence Migration Series

I am unequivocally a descendant of migrants. My mother moved from the South to the North, to Philadelphia, as did my paternal grandfather. They were part of the Great Migration, the largest internal migration in U.S. history. Between 1916 and 1970, more than six million Black people left the South for the North, bringing with them their labor, their skills, and their hopes in exchange for the promise of a better life.

Artwork- Jacob Lawrence Migration Series

Just because this story unfolded within U.S. borders does not mean it is so different from the journeys of today’s Black immigrants, migrants, and asylum seekers like Yero. The common thread is clear: people on the move bring their labor and their desires as capital, with the simple dream of living with safety and dignity.

Artwork- Jacob Lawrence Migration Series

But unlike my family, who were able to plant new roots in Philadelphia, Yero now faces deportation after being suddenly detained at his routine ICE check-in. To fight for his freedom, he urgently needs help with legal fees, expert testimony, and translation services; costs that quickly rise into the thousands.

Artwork- Jacob Lawrence Migration Series

That is why I launched a GoFundMe campaign to support Yero’s legal defense. All funds go directly to his attorney’s office. Please join me in honoring our shared migration stories by ensuring Yero has the resources he needs to remain safe and free.

Here is the link: https://gofund.me/b5cfeb6c

Artwork- Jacob Lawrence Migration Series

*Artwork- The faces and journeys in Jacob Lawrence’s Migration Series mirror those of today’s migrants who carry their labor, their hopes, and their right to a safe home.

#StandWithYero #ImmigrantJustice #GreatMigration #CommunitySolidarity #VoicesOfHope

Portraits of Possibility; Experiencing Amy Sherald’s American Sublime at the Whitney Museum by Octavia McBride-Ahebee

I’m so excited about my upcoming trip to New York to see Amy Sherald: American Sublime at the Whitney Museum of American Art. The exhibition closes on Sunday, August 10, 2025—so if you haven’t seen it yet, now’s the time! 

Portrait Artist Amy Sherald/Photo-Harry McNally

This show feels especially important to catch in person since Sherald recently canceled her upcoming exhibition at the Smithsonian’s National Portrait Gallery, originally scheduled to open this fall in Washington, D.C. (Click) Read why here.

I’ve long admired Sherald’s body of creative work. Like many, I was introduced to her work when her portrait of First Lady Michelle Obama debuted in 2018. I was immediately taken by how Sherald captured Mrs. Obama’s softness and seemingly effortless elegance. When fine art prints of that portrait became available, I ordered one right away. Sojourner and I thoughtfully chose how it should be framed. We ultimately went with a simple red frame with just enough of a pop of color without overpowering the portrait itself. We hung it in Sojourner’s room with great care and joy.

Michelle Obama Portrait

As an aside, Sojourner had previously been welcomed to the White House by Michelle Obama; twice. First, as part of the National Student Poetry Program, and later when she was invited back to read alongside former U.S. Poet Laureate Billy Collins at a reception for a visiting dignitary. She was just a teenager then, and we were all so proud and thrilled. Sherald’s portrait of Mrs. Obama became, for us, a gateway into a deeper appreciation of her work and artistic voice.

Sherald's Michelle Obama Print in Sojo's

Room!  

 

Here in Philadelphia, we are especially proud of Sherald’s stunning five-story mural in Center City, featuring teenager Najee Spencer-Young. It’s a

Sherald's Mural in Philadelphia. * Photo Matt Rourke

 

striking celebration of young Black girl/womanhood and a powerful public work. Click here to Read the story behind the mural and how Spencer-Young became its subject.

Sherald, who is so stylish in her own right, portrays ordinary people with extraordinary presence. Her figures are rendered in rich shades of gray and brown, full of grace and authority. She brings forward a quiet power and dignity that insists on being seen.  

Sherald's portrait of Breonna Taylor 

If you’re planning to be in New York, don’t miss this rare opportunity to see American Sublime. Click: Here are the exhibition details.

                            Here is Sojourner, with First Lady Michelle Obama and Dr. Jill Biden, 

                            wife of  the then Vice-President Joe Biden, visiting the White to read

                            her poetry. 

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