The School of Ma
June is Caribbean American Heritage Month and we are celebrating by taking a peak into Dr. Brown’s ethnographic memoir, East of Flatbush, North of Love: An Ethnography of Home, a music-centered book that takes a look at growing up Caribbean American in East Flatbush, Brooklyn. This excerpt is from the second chapter of the book, “There’s No Place Like Home.” (Footnotes not included). Don’t forget to listen to the musical selections (“cues”), which can be found on the East of Flatbush Playlist on Spotify and YouTube.
The School of Ma
I was enrolled in “the school of Ma” at birth, and it’s doubtful that I will ever graduate. It’s not that I’m a dull student. It’s just that there is always more to learn. My schooling at Emma Lazarus was often supplemented with my mother’s teachings. One of my earliest memories consisted of my mom’s suggestion that I make civil rights activist and Trinidadian native Stokely Carmichael (later known as Kwame Ture) the subject of my Black History Month book report.
While some of Mom’s lessons came in the form of direct conversations, many of them were made poignant through song.
“Yuh doh know dat one?” my mother would ask before erupting in verse.
Well the girls in town feeling bad
No more Yankees in Trinidad
They going to close down the base for good
Them girls have to make out how they could
Brother is now they park up in town
In for a penny, and in for a pound
Believe me it’s competition for so
Trouble in the town when the price drop low
My mother introduced me to the U.S. presence in Trinidad during World War II by singing “Jean and Dinah,” a well-known calypso by Slinger Francisco, more popularly known as the Mighty Sparrow. She would later explain that, as part of the Lend-Lease Act with Great Britain, the U.S. was permitted to lease land in Trinidad for a period of ninety-nine years, until the early termination of that agreement by Dr. Eric Williams. In my mother’s words, Dr. Williams told the Americans to “get the hell out.” “Jean and Dinah” is not only about prostitution, but also some of the ways that colonialism and imperialism have contributed to the destabilization of Trinidad society. Mom used the song as a teaching tool.
More songs would follow, each one teaching me about a different aspect of Trinidad history and culture—the collapse of the West Indies Federation, racial conflict in Trinidad, obeah, and more. My mother has always had a habit of singing history, and she always seems to have a calypso for every occasion. There’s no shortage of songs in her arsenal. And though my mother could not (and still cannot) sing to save her life, I have to give her credit. (As she would say, “Give Jack his jacket.”) You see, my mother is the embodiment of oral tradition at its finest. She is a modern day griot with an impeccable memory and the desire and ability to maintain history through song. One has to understand that my mother was doing this in an age prior to compact discs, the Internet, and mp3s. She calls upon the most appropriate song for any occasion, and she imparts knowledge to all who are willing to hear.
People think that school is the primary place where one learns. The truth is, it’s in the home. The education that I received from my mom was invaluable and by far trumps what I ever learned in school. I learned not only facts from Mom, but also values. However, not all of these lessons were acquired through the gentleness of a song. There were other ways, much harder ways, in which I learned.
Want to know the much harder ways that I learned? (Hint: It involves a “cuttail.”) Visit our store to purchase a copy of East of Flatbush, North of Love: An Ethnography of Home and the East of Flatbush, North of Love: Teacher Guidebook. *My People Tell Stories is the only authorized online seller of print and digital copies of East of Flatbush, North of Love: An Ethnography of Home and East of Flatbush, North of Love: Teacher Guidebook.