Creating Africa in America. Jacqueline Copeland-Carson

       Preface

      On Life Betwixt and Between

      My deceased grandmother, who was originally from South Carolina and moved to Philadelphia in her forties, was at least of partial Gullah heritage. An unschooled farmer who, as family legend has it, delivered her six babies on her own without the aid of doctor or midwife, she taught herself to read by memorizing the Bible. Grandma Aiken had a battery of sayings that could have filled a “good book” of her own. The family’s youngsters rarely knew exactly what Grandma was talking about. When I’d ask my mother to interpret what she was saying, she would just look down and, while shaking her head, say, “Chile, that’s just that old country Geechee English; don’t pay too much mind to it.” But I paid attention anyway and the meanings of many of her mysterious sayings have slowly revealed themselves to me over the years—I think once I had enough life experience to fully relate to what she was saying. Every time I saw her she would say to me with a hug and with earnest certainty, “How’s my lil’ school teacher?!” Eventually, Grandma’s nickname for me became School Teacher. I remember being initially a little perplexed about why she would call a six-year-old “School Teacher.” Over time I intuitively came to understand that for Grandma, who was largely denied opportunity because of Jim Crow, this was an act of aspiration and faith that my future might realize her deferred dreams.

      I continue to be driven by the visions of this woman who survived and accomplished much in conditions that I can barely imagine. In part because of her, and even though I didn’t grow up in the most privileged of circumstances, I always believed I could write books that people might read and maybe find in some way interesting. I wrote this book in large part to honor my deceased grandmother’s hopes for my generation. For me she represents the Black women who have nurtured and inspired me and who created many “firsts”—big and small—that have made African Americans’ astounding survival as a people possible in America.¹ I stand in their shadow and spirit, trying to make myself worthy of their sacrifice. This book is as much their creation as it is mine and is dedicated to them.

      Grandma Aiken left me with a particular saying that has been a running motif of my life and this book. Frequently, when I would ask her how she was doing, she would say that she was “betwixt and between.” As a young woman I came to understand that what Grandma meant was that she wasn’t feeling bad; she wasn’t feeling good; she was just existing some place between happiness and resignation—a general state of many people’s lives. Technically, the term, derived from Old English, means a midway position—neither one thing nor the other. But I think that Grandma was also making a kind of existential statement—an expression