She was benefiting from a craft that had been beaten out of and stolen from my people by hers. A white woman was waxing poetic on the forced separation of Black families and trafficked children conducted by her own ancestors. Some internet digging revealed she wasn’t Black at all. I knew her appearance didn’t invalidate her Blackness or Black ancestors, but I couldn’t shake this itch… But before it could arrive I found myself doing a double-take at the image of the woman who owned the shop. I connected to this story immediately and purchased the statue without any hesitation. I had grown up with a little cloth doll I’d instinctively gone looking for again as an adult during some of the most troubled years of my life. The item’s description was actually a story of enslaved mothers assembling La Madama dolls from fabric scraps created in their own likeness so that if their children were separated from them the doll functioned as a conduit to remember them by, to watch over and guard these children from harm. There I found a listing for a “La Madama” statue. I remember someone in a spiritual Facebook group recommending the products of a Black-owned Hoodoo shop online. Through uncovering the evidence of a resilient ancestral connection, I began seeing myself more clearly.īut with each step forward I would also find myself jerked another ten steps back. Hoppin’ John and cabbage to ring in the new year, the stories of conjure doctors and trickster spirits told to me as a child that in turn enchanted me and frightened me into behaving.

I remember how much began to resonate with me immediately about these old spiritual systems, which are so deeply ingrained in Black culture that many of us miss them hiding in plain sight. Somewhere in my early twenties, I began doing research on folks still practicing African American Indigenous religions here in the States. About all the hits and misses, the spiritual and emotional revelations, and the community I’ve found while navigating my journey home to myself. How I’ve been digging backwards for my roots to better inform the shape in which I’ll grow forward. I wanted to show them the road I took to get here. And I say “remember” because our Indigenous traditions haven’t actually been lost, and that’s more than evidenced by how often they reappear uncredited and whitewashed in the witchy and wellness industries, sold back to us by non-Black folks at slap-your-mama prices. The radical version: I want to make spiritual tools that help us to remember where we come from, and how divinity is inherent to Black people.Īlways was and always will be. The basic version: Inclusivity and representation are nowhere near enough we must be centered in our own spiritual and mindfulness practices. It had to be a 1-minute pitch, but I had several pages of notes and, honestly, I could have given them hours. Today I gave an elevator pitch to a prominent women’s entrepreneurship program about why my product, a deck of cards that align specifically with the spiritual practices of Black American folks, is something we all need.

Conjure south mobile al