*Support the GoFundMe Campaign! In today’s appeal I want to share why I feel so protective and maternal toward Philadelphia’s African communities. When I lived in Côte d’Ivoire, I was surrounded by care not only from my husband Auguste, but from his family, his community, and even strangers. Many of you know the tragic circumstances of Auguste’s untimely death, but until then, I was enveloped in a net of love and belonging.
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| My Father-in-Law- Jean Kouassi Ahebee |
On this Labor Day, I especially remember my father-in-law, Jean Kouassi Ahebee who was a former Member of the National Assembly and head of a major labor union. I first met him during my three-month exploratory trip to Côte d’Ivoire. Papa Jean wanted me to know his country, its beauty, and its people.He arranged for me to see the Basilica of Our Lady of Peace in Yamoussoukro, which surpasses St. Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican in size, and then to visit what was, at that time, the largest mosque in the country. He took great pride in his nation’s tradition of different ethnic and religious groups living side by side and intermarrying. From there, he took me to the family’s ancestral village, where he had planned something extraordinary.
That evening, dinner was not served inside the house but under a vast, open-air pavilion. The tables were covered in hand-dyed batik cloths and set with beautiful dishes alongside bottles of wine and refreshments. At first, I thought it was simply a family meal. But as the evening unfolded, many, many people arrived.Then I noticed men setting up microphones at the front of the space. As they drew closer, I whispered to Auguste that they looked so familiar. While they arranged themselves at the front, I turned back to chatting with the aunties, with Auguste serving as principle translator. *Côte d’Ivoire's national language is French. Then, suddenly, I heard a few juke joint-like thump on an electric piano, and the group, in the front, stood in full choir formation. And in English, they burst into “Oh Mary, Don’t You Weep,” bopping and swaying like an old-school Black American gospel choir, belting the song out with full force.
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| Me with my father-in-law on the right and one of his labor union associates. |
Papa Jean had quietly arranged for a Liberian choir composed of men and women who themselves had fled the civil war in Liberia to sing the songs of my home: spirituals, jazz standards, and classics by Louis Armstrong and Nat King Cole. It was his way of saying: You belong. You are seen. You are cared for here. Out under the West African stars, we were all together, indigenous Africans and descendants of the formerly enslaved, united by a love story that bridged oceans and histories.( In time, after I resettled in Côte d’Ivoire, Liberians became some of my dearest friends who welcomed me, stood beside me, and later surrounded me with song and comfort during the painful days of Auguste’s funeral gatherings.)
The next day, when we arrived in Bouaké at Papa Jean’s home, I felt the same message in his surroundings. His house spoke of pride and history. His ethnic group was Baoulé. In his massive dining room, above a long buffet sideboard, hung a striking painting of Queen Pokou, who was the Ashanti princess who fled Ghana during dynastic conflict and became the founding queen of the Baoulé people of Côte d’Ivoire. Her story, both history and legend, tells of her perilous migration, and of her ultimate sacrifice of giving up her child so her followers could cross the Comoé River to safety.
Queen Pokou was a migrant, too, fleeing violence, leading her people toward survival. Her story hangs in my memory alongside Papa Jean’s acts of kindness, the Liberian choir’s voices rising under the night sky, and the way I was embraced by a family and community not my own.
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| An artistic interpretation of the Queen Pokou legend( not the piece referenced in the Papa Jean's home); *could not id artist. |
This is why I fight so fiercely for Yero and for the African migrants in Philadelphia today. Like Queen Pokou, like the Liberian refugees who once sang for me and later comforted me, like all who are forced to leave home for survival, Yero deserves the chance at safety, belonging, and dignity.
To learn more and to support his GoFundMe campaign, here is the link: https://gofund.me/ea76afe0
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