Before the Stream: Reading Washington Black Together in Philly

 

Read it before it streams. 

   Before Washington Black premieres on Hulu July 23, let’s come together to read Esi Edugyan’s remarkable novel, the story of George Washington Black, a young boy born into slavery who escapes and embarks on a globe-spanning journey of invention, survival, and self-discovery.

   Washington Black is recommended for readers ages 16 and up, due to its mature themes of slavery, racial violence, loss, and identity. While it’s beautifully written and deeply moving, it does not shy away from the emotional and historical complexities of its subject. 

   This is more than a book club. It’s a moment to reflect on freedom, flight, and imagination and what those words mean in a city like Philadelphia;  a city shaped by both the ideals of liberty and the brutal realities of slavery, abolition, and migration.

    One of Wash’s stops is Morocco, so how about we gather, at the completion of reading the book,  at a local Moroccan restaurant to share reflections, food, and conversation? A global story, grounded in our city. 

Washington Black is the third novel
by Calgary-born writer Esi Edugyan. 
(Patrick Crean Editions, Tamara Poppitt)

   I know many of us enjoy reading at our own pace, so please feel free to approach Washington Black however works best for you. That said, I’ve put together this optional 2-week reading and reflection schedule for anyone who’d like a little structure as we journey through the book together.  

  Do read read along. And those in the Philly area who are interested in gathering to discuss the book at an local restaurant, do email me at om74@drexel.edu    Let’s read with purpose in the very city where freedom has always been both a dream and a struggle. 

  If you’re so inclined, you can drop your questions or comments below and they’ll be shared with the group. You’re also welcome to share your thoughts anonymously. Let’s read with openness and curiosity. *Click on image to enlarge and see more clearly. 

Compliant But Still Caged: Jailed Steps Away from the USA's Symbols of Liberty by Octavia McBride-Ahebee

*If you prefer to listen, I've recorded this piece for you. Click here to listen it.

* To protect his privacy and avoid any potential impact on his pending immigration case, I have chosen not to use my friend’s name in this essay, which quite honestly feels like another act of erasure. 

We met him a year ago over lunch—a kind, attentive waiter who made us feel at home. Last week he was detained by ICE during what should have been a routine, annual check-in. *Visual recreation for narrative emphasis.

  Two old ladies—myself included—were dining at one of our favorite small restaurants in Philadelphia, a cozy spot with good food and an atmosphere of quiet lushness. As we often do, we engaged in more than surface conversations with the staff taking care of us. Both of us had once waited tables in our youth and we know the labor of this job; the long hours, the hustle, the unspoken attentiveness required. We always made a point of acknowledging that labor.

That evening, the waiter moved with care and a quiet dignity. We thanked him sincerely for his care of us and asked him where he was from. In limited but eager English, he told us he was from Mauritania. He also told us he was working hard to improve his English, though his work schedule didn’t allow him to attend formal classes. Instead, he relied on YouTube courses and English-language movies to teach himself. We were moved by his determination.

    I’m a retired teacher of over 30 years, and there was something about his earnestness that reminded me of the hundreds of students I’d poured into throughout my career. I had missed that work. I missed believing in someone’s potential and helping them believe in it, too. So we got him English course books, tapes, and other materials. We encouraged him to go for his driver’s license. He did. Soon his posse of supporters grew and he became like family.  We learned from him as much as he learned from us.

   Over time, we learned more of his story; his journey to the U.S., his hardships in Mauritania, and the suffocating weight of growing up in a society still deeply entrenched in the legacy of slavery. Mauritania, unlike many of its West African neighbors, remains governed in large part by a lighter-skinned Arab-Berber minority who are often referred to as the Bidhan, or White Moor. They historically enslaved and continue to dominate Black Mauritanians. Slavery wasn’t outlawed there until 1981 and its practice lingers, embedded in social and economic structures that rarely face scrutiny from the outside world.

  He shared these truths quietly, not seeking pity but simply trying to be understood. He also often expressed how much he was growing in his admiration of the United States.. He loved the openness of the people, their willingness to live and let live, and the diverse ways in which communities embrace each other. As a restaurant worker, he saw the breadth of who Americans are and he loved us. Despite the long hours, the hard labor, and the often unfair realities of restaurant work, he still believed this country was a kind of fairytale. Not because it was perfect, but because of the way people from every corner of the world could meet here, share space, and make something together.

To be honest, especially now, I’ve been increasingly critical of the U.S.; a country I love deeply but struggle with. His appreciation reminded us of the admirable possibilities this country still holds. It was grounding to be around someone who saw those qualities with such clarity and conviction.  We, who knew something about struggle and carried the history of this place in our bones, saw in him an opening to hope again. He gave us that.  This is why his sudden detention by ICE,  last Friday, during what he believed to be a routine, annual check-in, has shaken us to our core.

   He is an asylum seeker, legally working in this country while his case for protection status is under review. He pays taxes and contributes quietly, steadily like so many others building a life while waiting for a decision. His annual check-in with ICE was something he’d known about for weeks, and he approached it as he always had: with a sense of responsibility and trust in the process. He had no reason to fear it. For three years, he complied fully and consistently. But this year, on the heels of a quiet yet sweeping policy shift enacted on May 25, 2025, the rules changed authorizing ICE to detain asylum seekers even during routine check-ins, regardless of their history of compliance. He walked into that office and was detained without warning.

   I got a call from a number I didn’t recognize. Normally, I wouldn’t answer—but this time I did, and it was him, calling me hysterical and terrified from the ICE detention center in Philadelphia. He had tried frantically to reach his relatives but couldn’t, and when he finally reached me, he could barely speak through the panic. ICE had already confiscated his phone. He didn’t know why he was being detained. I don’t even know if his lawyer was with him at this time. I did contact his community members about his detention.

  .Since his detention, my family and friends—those who know and care for him—have rallied to send what we can: money, prayers, our love. But we feel helpless. We managed to contact his lawyer, and many of us wrote letters of support to be shared with the court. We also began the long process to get approved for visitation, though that can take weeks—and by then, he may be transferred to another detention center, hours from here, before even having a hearing. I can’t stop thinking about how alone, how forgotten he must feel. We want him to know he isn’t.

   Many people have never even heard of  his country of  Mauritania—not Mauritius in the Indian Ocean, but Mauritania in West Africa, a country still grappling with slavery today. There, a lighter-skinned Arab-Berber minority, sometimes called White Moors, holds power over Black Mauritanians, many of whom are survivors of hereditary slavery, passed down through generations. Remember, slavery only ended there 44 years ago and it still persists in deeply embedded ways.  A few years ago, CNN documented this reality so well with incredible photography. Here is a link to this story:

https://www.cnn.com/interactive/2012/03/world/mauritania.slaverys.last.stronghold/index.html

  How long will we, as a community, stand by in silence as our new neighbors, people who work, contribute, and live among us, are plucked from our neighborhoods without warning? At what point do we stop calling this policy and start calling it what it is: erasure?

*We recently learned he may be moved to another detention facility—far from Philadelphia, and even farther from the people who care about him.

_______________________________________________________

What You Can Do: Stand With Dignity

1. Reach Out to Elected Officials
   Call or write your local, state, and federal representatives. Ask them to investigate the detention of asylum seekers who have committed no crimes and are contributing members of their communities.

2. Support Legal Aid Organizations
   Donate to or volunteer with groups like the ACLU, National Immigrant Justice Center, or local immigrant legal defense funds that provide direct support to people like our friend.

3. Join or Start a Community Support Circle
   Form or join a group that supports newcomers with language learning, navigating transportation, job applications, and emotional connection. Offer rides, tutoring, or simple companionship.

4. Host a Storytelling Event or Vigil
   Create space for people to share their stories—especially those who are often silenced. Use poetry, photography, or just an open mic. Center empathy.

5. Amplify with Care
   Share Haj’s story (or others like it) on social media, in faith communities, or local newsletters—being mindful of privacy, dignity, and consent. Use your voice to counter fear with truth.

6. Push for Local Policy Change
   Advocate for your city or county to become a sanctuary or “welcoming” community. Encourage non-cooperation with ICE detainers unless there is a serious criminal concern.

7. Learn & Teach
   Host a film screening, book group, or panel on Mauritania, migration journeys, or the U.S. detention system. Invite others to question what it means to belong.

8. Create Art in Resistance
   Write. Paint. Compose. Use your craft to document this moment. Art can say what policy language cannot—and can reach those who turn away from headlines.

9. Show Up for Court Dates or ICE Check-ins
   Sometimes just being there is a powerful act of solidarity. Ask how to accompany someone to a check-in or hearing. Your presence can be protective.

10. Support People on the Inside
    Send letters. Fund commissary accounts. Let people in detention know they are not forgotten.

 

No Exit at Intermission: The Staying Power of On My Deen by Octavia McBride-Ahebee

Bringing faith and identity to the stage—playwright Antu Yacob and actor Evander Duck Jr. of On My Deen, now being presented by InterAct Theatre  and Theatre in the X until June 28th.

(Photo-Christopher Colucci )

After spending the weekend showing my out-of-town cousin some of Philadelphia’s cultural and culinary gems, we ended our mini-tour this past Sunday on a drizzling afternoon at InterAct Theatre in Center City to see the play On My Deen. I had already heard some buzz, even before its June 6th opening—a new play centered on Philadelphia’s African-American Muslim community.

Even as a non-Muslim kid growing up in West Philly during the 1970s and 1980s, Muslims were an integral part of the community. Their presence contributed to the landscape of many neighborhoods—from dress and language to faith and food.

As cousin Carol and I settled into our seats before the play began, I made my position clear: if this play wasn't absolutely riveting, we’d make a quiet exit at intermission—bags in hand, full of purchases, from the Odunde Festival. But when the lights came up midway through, we turned to each other at the exact same time. We weren’t going anywhere.

On My Deen, written by Antu Yacob and directed by Amina Robinson, spans 50 years—set primarily in West Philadelphia. The play explores pivotal relationships: the search for a belief system to anchor one’s life, the evolving bond between mother and daughter, and a mother’s quiet longing for a life beyond the domestic sphere. But the most poignant thread for me was the portrayal of a 50-year friendship between a Black man and a  Black woman—one that weathers war, imprisonment, and an unending search for a meaningful life.  Over time, this deep connection grows into a tender, late-in-life love story, culminating in marriage.

The cast of “On My Deen.” Top row, from left: Satchel Williams, Travoye Joyner, Najah Imani Muhammad. Bottom row, from left: Evander Duck Jr., Kimmika L. H. Williams-Witherspoon, Newton Buchanan. (Photo- Christopher Colucci)

What moved me most was how gently and lovingly this relationship is rendered. We first meet the main characters Faye Ann ( Young Fatima) played by Satchel Williams and Michael played by Travoye Joyner—as thoughtful, intelligent teenagers. We journey with them through the highs and lows of life, through long stretches of separation, and through the quiet persistence of their bond. Their friendship becomes a constant, a refuge, and eventually, a mature and poignant love. This is brilliantly rendered. 

Characters Faye Ann and Michael

Kudos to Kimmika Williams-Witherspoon who actually played 2 characters- Dr. Rivers and the older Fatima and to Evander Duck, Jr. who played the older Michael/Isa. On My Deen is a co-production with Theatre in the X, and it’s clear that the playwright—though not a Philadelphian—consulted earnestly with members of the city’s Black Muslim community. The play is rich with references to Philadelphia’s long-standing role as a center of African-American Islamic life. It nods to iconic figures like Dawud Abdel Hakim, founder of Hakim’s Bookstore—one of the oldest Black-owned bookstores in the country—and honors institutions like the Sister Clara Muhammad School. The story is deeply rooted in place, and alongside Muslim voices, it also includes references to well-known non-Muslim West Philly personalities, creating a textured and authentic sense of community.

The daughter of Fatima—Jamilah, played with great depth by Najah Imani Muhammad—acts as both a conductor of this journey and a traveler on one of her own, as she comes to better understand her mother. I loved how the playwright and director used this character, who begins the play seated in the audience with us, offering flippant commentary rooted in anger and misunderstanding. But as Jamilah reads through her mother’s diary, she begins to uncover her mother’s nuanced vulnerability and generosity both toward  herself and her community. 

Actor Najah Imani Muhammad portrays  Jamilah

Through her eyes, we witness an unraveling of assumptions. Several relationships in the play are given room to evolve and transform, all within the span of this two-hour presentation.

Newton Buchanan gave a strong, understated performance as Hasan, Fatima’s husband—grounding the character with quiet conviction and care. The intimate

Characters Fatima and Hasan portrayed by Satchel Williams and Newton Buchanan.

set and carefully selected period Black music are skillfully used to evoke Philadelphia’s distinct personality and spirit.

On My Deen runs through June 28, 2025. Visit the InterAct Theatre website for show dates and times, and to check out a full list of community events connected to the production—including TalkBacks, Muslim Affinity Day, Free Ice Cream Previews, and more. 

 https://www.interacttheatre.org/on-my-deen

*Photos courtesy of InterAct Theatre, unless otherwise noted.

Cousin Carol and me at the 50th Odunde
Festival here in Philadelphia.

*Every coffee fuels not just my writing, but the workshops, conversations, and creative spaces I help nurture. If you’re able, I’d be grateful for your support.

A C-Shaped Spine and the Straightest Path to Wonder by Octavia McBride-Ahebee

In a Northeast Philly hospital, a tiny girl’s

 Spanish showed me that Blackness had

 a global map. *Images generated using AI tools.

As an aging woman still living with the long-term effects of scoliosis and multiple back surgeries, I’ve spent more than 60 years learning profound lessons from my body’s journey.

A large part of my early life was shaped by my time — both as an inpatient and outpatient — at what was then called Shriners Hospital for Crippled Children, located in Northeast Philadelphia. I even attended school on-site during my stays. Though I spent long stretches away from home, my parents visited almost daily, other family members stayed closely involved — and even my beloved, radical nun teachers from Saint Leonard’s came to visit me wherever I was during those times I couldn’t be in school.

Surrounded by children living not only with scoliosis, but also those with spina bifida, cerebral palsy, and other congenital conditions, I learned to see beyond the limitations of the physical body. In that small, sheltered world, we found self-acceptance through the deep friendships and unwavering love we had for one another. Despite all we endured, there was joy, resilience, and a fierce sense of belonging to each other.

I also caught the travel bug there — a flicker of wanderlust that would eventually propel me around the world as an adult. No matter where I’ve gone, even on my last trip to Rwanda, for example, I’ve always, with intention, connected with disabled communities.

My curiosity about a wider world — one bigger than me, yet with me still on the scene— began the moment I heard a little, Black girl speak Spanish. And I glimpsed Blackness as a borderless truth. To entertain the fact that Black folk were telling stories in many languages, floored my little girl mind and excited it as well.

Catching a glimpse of myself in the wider world.

I always thank my C- shaped spine for alerting me early to the fact that black folk existed in other parts of the world other than just Philadelphia and that they had other narratives, told in other languages of what we share and how we are distinct. The idea, the possibility, the fact that we were everywhere, opened me to the whole of the world.

Children from all over the world came to that strip of the Roosevelt Blvd, in Northeast Philly, to be treated and I was fortunate to have the foundations of my little girl worldview shaken at its core while having my spine stretched and supported.

As one of the few Black children receiving care at Shriners at that time, seeing another kid of color was always a pleasure for me. On one visit, when I about 10, I was startled to see, what I thought to be, a U.S./African-American girl. She was younger than I, perhaps 5 or 6 years old, and she was unusually small and unable to walk. She was in a mobile crib-like contraption. She appeared to be without her parents and a nurse was escorting her to radiology, where we both were to have x-rays taken.

She must have felt very alone, because she started to cry and then to babble. But quickly, my ears were able to discern that there was a method and a purpose and lyricism to her outburst. It was almost poetic. My father, who had accompanied me that day to the hospital for an outpatient appointment, said the girl was speaking Spanish. WOW, I thought, a black person, a child, speaking another language.

I remember the care and precision with which my father proceeded to enumerate the seemingly endless possibilities of where that beautiful, black girl –immobile and all alone-might be from in the world-North Philly, Puerto Rico, Colombia, Spain, Peru, Dominican Republic, Equatorial Guinea…. She and her Spanish-speaking-self, though seemingly caged, unleashed my sense of wonder about the world.

My father didn’t just see a girl in a hospital crib. 

He saw the world in her—and helped me see it too.

She marked the beginning of my wanderlust. That propitious meeting happened more than 50 years ago.Hearing the strange, beautiful, cacophonous sound of another language was like a sighting by ear — one that placed me firmly on a new path. That moment sparked my lifelong love affair with literature, food, and music from around the world. These have become the ways I begin to build and nurture global community. These are some of the ways I build community with new neighbors.

Concha Buika from Equatorial Guinea/Spain

I was listening all day to some of my favorite singers of African-descent who sing in Spanish. Concha Buika from Equatorial Guinea/Spain, Choc Quib Town from Colombia and Susana Baca from Peru.

Choc Quib Town from Colombia

In honor of that small, adorable Spanish-speaking girl and the lasting impression she left on me, I offer these reflections at a time when headlines and public policy too often reduce so-called foreigners —  neighbors — to threats or burdens. I am grateful that Shriners Hospital brought the world to its young patients, giving us the chance to encounter those once seen as strangers as people who expanded our compassion and deepened our sense of shared humanity. Those experiences awakened our curiosity about the world! 

Susana Baca from Peru

*Every coffee fuels not just my writing, but the workshops, conversations, and creative spaces I help nurture. If you’re able, I’d be grateful for your support.

Poetry Workshop Series with Yolanda Wisher at Drexel's Dornsife Center

Take part in the final workshop of the term at the Dornsife Center for Neighborhood Partnerships, led by Writers Room’s Spring Teaching Artist, Yolanda Wisher.

Poet Yolanda Wisher will lead her final Spring Term workshop on Tuesday, June 3rd, from 4:30 to 6:00 p.m. at the Dornsife Center. Titled Room for Error III, this session concludes her vibrant spring series. Continuing her playful, judgment-free approach to art-making, participants will collaborate to create a live sound piece—written, recorded, and mixed during the workshop.

Poet Yolanda Wisher

Yolanda brings not only brilliance to the page but generosity to the community. A few years ago, despite her demanding schedule, she graciously visited my classroom to work with my students—and to support a young poet honing her workshop facilitation skills under Yolanda’s guidance.

Poet Yolanda Wisher inspiring young 

minds with haiku writing in my old classroom.

Her commitment to nurturing emerging voices is matched by an extraordinary creative legacy.

Yolanda was named the inaugural Poet Laureate of Montgomery County and served as the third Philadelphia Poet Laureate. She is the author of Monk Eats an Afro, a Pew Fellow, a Leeway Foundation Transformation Award recipient, and a Philadelphia Cultural Treasures Artist Fellow. She founded the School of Guerrilla Poetics—a training ground for mobilizing communities through poetry—and currently serves as Senior Curator at Monument Lab.

Join the final workshop in her spring series at the Dornsife Center, where this spirit of community, creativity, and care will be in full bloom.

Where to go: Drexel University's Dornsife Center for Neighborhood Partnerships

3509 Spring Garden St, Philadelphia, PA 19104

Phone: (215) 571-4013

Yolanda Wisher gifting teacher and poet Octavia McBride-Ahebee a poetry collection by Sonia Sanchez.

A radiant moment—Yolanda Wisher
lights up at the students’ creativity.

Students proudly share their haikus
during this poetry session.

Rooted and Rising: My Poetry on Diaspora and Belonging

Click link below to watch and listen to reading.

Octavia McBride-Ahebee reading her poetry on the theme of migration.

I have been actively involved in an ongoing project with writers and scholars from around the world, all focused on the theme of African migration. Our collaboration has unfolded through a series of Zoom conversations and a recent arts festival hosted in London.

This initiative is organized by Forced Migration and the Arts, a global network that brings together individuals with lived experience of forced migration, as well as refugee and non-refugee artists, scholars, and activists from across the globe.

It has been both humbling and inspiring to engage with such powerful work—especially from young African scholars and writers whose insights and creativity have deeply moved and challenged me. These conversations have pushed my thinking and expanded my understanding of migration as both a lived reality and a cultural force.

The creative output of this collaboration will be featured in an upcoming anthology titled Africa Migration Report: An Anthology of Poems. This collection is inspired by the second edition of the Africa Migration Report, jointly published by the African Union Commission (AUC) and the International Organization for Migration (IOM).

Japa Fire: An Anthology of Poems on African and African Diasporic Migration is the inaugural publication in this powerful new series. Featuring 63 poems by 20 poets, the anthology explores themes of migration, (im)mobility, Blackness, Africanness, and the complexities of African diasporic identity. Here is a link to this collection:https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/japa-fire-ambrose-musiyiwa/1146732038?ean=9781916459397   

 My work will be published in an upcoming anthology.

Every coffee fuels not just my writing, but the workshops, conversations, and creative spaces I help nurture. If you’re able, I’d be grateful for your support.

The Historical Society of Pennsylvania and The 1838 Black Metropolis : A Public History Teach-In

Writer Octavia McBride-Ahebee outside of the Historical 
Society of Pennsylvania

This past weekend ‘s Public History Teach-In , organized by the Historical Society of Pennsylvania and the 1838 Black Metropolis, was a resounding success!

Historian and Artist Nell Irvin Painter with writer Octavia McBride-Ahebee

Public history artists, educators, museum preservationists, public historians, student activists, and even young elementary students—who are published authors of Black history as well—presented dynamic research and engaging stories throughout this unforgettable, two-day conference. The beloved historian and artist Nell Irwin Painter opened the gathering.

Students from the Jubilee School sharing their published history projects.

McBride-Ahebee reading her creative
fiction as Youba Cissokho accompanies
her, on his kora. 

I was thrilled to share a creative short story—still a work in progress—inspired by the migration of 15,000 African Americans, many from Philadelphia, to Haiti following its revolution in the early 1800s. One of the most moving moments for me was reading this piece while accompanied by the incomparable Youba Cissokho, a 72nd-generation kora master from Senegal. His music gave the story

a soul-stirring depth.

Master Kora Musician Youba Cissokho

Michiko Quinones and Morgan Lloyd, founders of the phenomenal
The 1838 Black Metropolis. Do follow their amazing  content, particularly
visually, on Instagram.  

Kudos to Mona R. Washington and Anthony P. Kamani for their powerful collaborative theatrical work, and to all the other incredible panelists who

Playwright Mona R. Washington discussing
the project she presented with actor
Anthony P. Kamani.

Dear Friends-Mona and Desiree

contributed their voices and perspectives. Deep thanks to my dear friends and family—like Mrs. Eads, and the wonderful Renee and Desiree—for showing up and supporting this meaningful event. Much love. Thank you to Justina Barret and Brianna Quade from the Historical Society of Pennsylvania and Morgan Lloyd and Michiko Quinones from The 1838 Black Metropolis- you need to follow them.

Octavia McBride-Ahebee's -Migrations of Desire  centered around the theme of
Creative Writers and the Art of Reimagining History. 

Morgan Lloyd with participants from the 
Creative Arts panel. 

If you're organizing an event, classroom visit, or community program and would like a reading or artist talk, I’d love to connect. Feel free to reach out via email: octaviamcbrideahebee@gmail.com

Every cup of coffee helps fuel my writing, research, and community-based creative work. If you’ve enjoyed what you’ve read—or just want to support independent storytelling rooted in history, migration, and everyday beauty—consider contributing. It means the world.