Nostalji ki fé rékòt
Ditrin-çála dan bwa a Kouven
Pær Résa té séyé toufé fèt, amizmen, travay, é lamizik shak dimansh koté Sin-Mishèl. Mær Résa, li té kontakté larshevèk dan Lavil pou mandé si li dwa arété ça li té pélé ditrin-çála ké léslkav afrikin é kréyòl t’apé lévé.
Ditrin-çála té komensé.
Toulédé, Pær é Mær, sé pinsé yé-minm kan yé té pi kapab iñoré lajwa é bon lénérji sòti moun ki t’apé fèté yê lakiltir, kontinnwé yê tradisyon. Yê zonng té vini pli lon é pli filé – asé filé pou koupé dibwa é kwir.
Avan lagè Sésèsyon-la, Mær té asiré jénéral-la dan Lafrans: “Lésklav-layé toujou loyal a lindistri é rélijyon.” Mé li té pa tròs yé. Li té krò yé té gin fé kishòj pir ké jish travay si li kité yé fé sosyété dan nabitasyon olon Meshasébé-la.
Ditrin-çála té mélyoré.
Pær é Mær Résa sé glisé latè Sin-Mishèl laprémidi é lanwit. Mé yé dé té pa doudous konm lakwit… yé dé sé graté lapo a nimpòt ki ki té kasé silens: swa souri, swa piti, swa dan lazil o déyò li.
Kan no tenn ditrin-çála dan bwa a Kouven, no konné ça ça olé di – tro trankil aou Mær Résa entéré. Dan nô tem, vyolens, polisyon, é silens janmé mérit léspas dan Lalé Kansè. Paren é désendan p’alé janmé kité ça tombé.
Ditrin-çála va diré.
That Noise in the Woods in Convent
Father Raysa tried to snuff out parties, play, work, and music each Sunday at St. Michael’s. Mother Raysa, she contacted the Archbishop in New Orleans to ask if she should stop what she called that noise the enslaved Africans and Creoles were making.
That noise started.
Both Father and Mother would pinch themselves when they were no longer able to ignore the joy and good energy coming from the people who were celebrating their culture and continuing their traditions. Their fingernails became longer and sharper – sharp enough to cut wood and copper.
Before the Civil War, Mother assured the superior general in France that “The slaves are still loyal to industry and religion.” But she didn’t trust them. She thought they were gonna do something worse than just work if she let them socialize on plantations along the Mississippi.
That noise got louder.
Father and Mother Raysa would sneak around the St. Michael property afternoon and night. But the two weren’t sweet like molasses… they would scratch at anyone who broke silence: be it mouse, be it child, be it in the orphanage or outside.
When we hear that noise in the woods in Convent, we know what that means – may the Raysas never sleep. In our times, violence, pollution, and silence never deserve space in Cancer Alley. Ancestors and descendants will never let that happen.
That noise shall stay.
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