#simone small

Right now the world is witnessing a revolution in black consciousness, from the Black Lives Matter movement to the natural hair movement. I see Africans from all corners of the globe taking a much keener interest in their heritage and culture. I see afros, cornrows, kente and ankara on the bodies of young people as I scroll through my social media time lines daily. I come across social media accounts that are politically outspoken, culturally aware and highlighting messages from our master teachers, men and women such as Diop, Van Sertima, Ben-jochannan, Ani, and Welsing.

While I love bearing witness to this rising, I can’t help but notice that one area, the same area that has always been the most touchy for black folk is still yet to get its due shine. Among all the praise for the black skin, black hair and black culture, where is the praise for the black God?

This is a sensitive topic but a pertinent one. None of this is new to me, I am blessed with parents who raised me to have a positive black identity. I never experienced colourism in my home, I was taught that I am beautiful and intelligent and ascend from a line of beautiful and intelligent West Indian people with African roots. We watched Panther as a family, Alex Haley’s Roots as a family, Queen, The Colour Purple, Rosewood and Guiana1838 as a family; All with lengthy discussions that followed. On weekends I was given additional homework, book reports and essays, from my parents on African history. On my bedroom wall hung a poster of bronze skinned, woolly haired Jesus, in the living room a 3x4 foot reproduction of Tim Ashkar’s Madonna and Child. In fact, In my parents home all of the Christian icons are African. In the 90’s My mother proudly looked on as I painted the new angel that was to crown our christmas tree, a beautiful shade of sable, like me.

Madonna and Child. Tim Ashkar, 1956.

So when I transferred myself from catholic school to public school at age 13, I wasn’t questioned. When I chose to study African history and world religions instead of courses to fulfill my major during my second year of University I wasn’t punished, and when I revealed to my parents that I had renounced European religions altogether and chose to embrace African spirituality as my path to higher consciousness I was supported.

These days, amidst all of the pride people have for African aesthetics and African arts, I meet a lot of people who are uncomfortable with traditional African spirituality. People who are pan-africanists, people of the diaspora and continental Africans themselves, still uncomfortable with even the thought of pre-colonial religious ideas. I’ve been in the homes of individuals who have collections of masks and artifacts that would make any small museum envious, I have been in conversation with people who’ve visited and experienced far more African countries than I, but still they retire to their private spaces and clasp their hands in prayer before a blonde haired, blue eyed conceptualization of the divine. Despite all their pride, all their travels, all their knowledge of self, they just can’t transcend their fears.

Upon conversation I have been floored, on more than a few occasions, to learn how little people who I thought were rooted in their Africanity,  know about our indigenous spiritual heritage. I’ve heard them scoff at, dismiss or outright malign the African concept of divinity without so much as a rudimentary knowledge of the subject. Derogatory terms such as witch doctor, fetish, idol worshipper and cult are slanderously thrown around without second thought.

The times in which individuals were rational enough to allow questioning of their ignorance, it was quickly revealed that their reservations, assumptions and fallacies are based on Hollywood representations, misinformation and fear of the unknown. If I discerned that they could handle the conversation, these meetings usually lead to discussion about why African spirituality has been scandalized, when African people were programmed to forget and fear their own heritage, and how African spiritual systems really work. If the person I was speaking to was curious they usually asked me further questions; about something they’ve heard or read, something they saw or always wondered about. This line of questioning almost always lead to questions such as, did your parents teach you this? Where did you learn this? Are your friends like you? and sometimes, the one that makes me uncomfortable, will you teach me? I always appreciate the enthusiasm and I always decline the latter. I believe in research. “Knowledge of self through knowledge for self” I say. I think there are few things more fulfilling than taking a genuine interest in a subject and learning it until you master the material, and i’ll share a secret, the way to mastery is to always remain a student. Also, it has been my experience that material I research and acquire for myself is retained longer and with more accuracy than that which is handed to me. So, for all the people who have ever asked me where and how, this is a short list of introductory titles to set you on your path.

Introduction to African Religion by by John S. Mbiti

Maat the 11 Laws of God by Ra Un Nefer Amen

The Handbook of Yoruba Religious Concepts by Ifa Karade

Akan Traditional Religion: The Myths and the Truth by Kofi Bempah

African Cosmology of the Bantu-Kongo by Kimbwandènde Kia Bunseki Fu-Kiau

After God Is Dibia: Igbo Cosmology, Divination & Sacred Science in Nigeria, Vol. 1 by John Anenechukwu Umeh

Politics of God in East Africa: Oromo Ritual and Religion by Mario Aguilar

The Religious System of the AmaZulu by Henry Callaway

Way of the Bushman: Spiritual Teachings and Practices of the Kalahari Ju/'hoansi by Bradford Keeney

Voodoo in Haiti by Alfred Metraux and Hugo Charteris

Hetep and ancestral wisdom,