During a
recent family mini vacation we visited Historic Jamestowne and
Colonial Williamsburg, in Virginia. The best part of this recent
trip was being with my family. We toured the area briefly and
went to Busch Gardens. We had visited both places almost twenty years
ago, with our son and oldest daughter, who were small children, at that time. Then, we did
the normal things that tourists do there, like touring the
Governor's Palace and watching an actor demonstrate milking a cow.
Yet, for me, the
best part of our recent visit to that area, was the Historic Jamestowne
Visitor Center; it's like a museum. History interests me, so I
was pleased to see that there was a lot of historical information,
including the exhibits in the center. The historical information
provided a little more in depth information on the most popular historical
people of that area, such as Captain John Smith, Pocahontas,
Wahunsenacawh, Pocahontas' father (also known as Chief Powhatan), John
Rolfe, and the history of that area in Virginia, four centuries
ago.
The early presence of
Africans in this English settlement was acknowledged and depicted in the
museum, their arrival in 1619, as slaves and/or indentured
servants. This was noted by John Rolfe, the Englishman who married
Pocahontas. Wahunsenacawh, Pocahontas' father, was a paramount chief of the
Powhatan Native American people of Virginia during that time.
The interesting thing about
this was actually being in the area where Pocahontas was born and
lived within her Native American nation, until she was kidnapped by the
English settlers. (She was later renamed and known as Rebecca Rolfe.) I reminded myself that these
historical figures that we read about in school, Pocahontas, her father the
Powhatan the paramount chief, Captain John Smith, and John Rolfe were all
there in that scenic waterfront area. Wahunsenacawh (chief of the
Powhatan Native Americans) was a head of state, so to speak.
They had a culture and lived and walked on this land, as we do now.
Four centuries
later, things have changed, but that does not change that Pocahontas and
Wahunsenacawh were real people who lived in
Virginia four centuries ago, long before the English
settlers came. Captain John Smith and John Rolfe were real,
too. The impact of their arrival (Captain John Smith arrived in 1607.)
would reveal itself four centuries after their arrival. The indigenous
population of the Powhatan people, Pocahontas' native nation, has
almost disappeared. This is not to emphasize what's known already: there
was a nation of people here before the English settlers
arrived. It's just to acknowledge the reality of this part of the
history our country, how we converged there four hundred years ago, the
indigenous population of native people, the English settlers and other
European immigrants seeking religious freedom and economic opportunity, and the
Africans as a forced labor force.
So, as I stood there in Jamestown,
Virginia, I pondered how Pocahontas and her father stood on that land, too, as a
once powerful paramount chief and his daughter, who would travel to Great Britain
to represent her native people to English royalty, though she died and never
made it back to her homeland in Virginia. That thought made me ponder the
visceral reality of them, in spite of being four centuries a part from them.
By Angeline Bandon-Bibum
For more information about the Historic Jamestowne Visitor Center see http://historicjamestowne.org/. |
Thursday, September 3, 2015
Reflections at Historic Jamestowne
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
A Summer Visit from Mom
In the cool waters of the ocean, on a beach in the city of my birth, she came to me.
She, who had given birth to my physical form, greeted me so peacefully, joyfully, and silently.
In an instant, the sun shined more brightly and the cool air seemed to hug me.
The waves of the ocean tickled my feet, and I giggled involuntarily.
I felt her smile, and I sensed that I was shining in her invisible presence.
Joy filled my heart, and I was thankful for her visit and consolation.
By Angeline Bandon-Bibum
Sunday, April 26, 2015
A Poem for April
On April
Oh month of April, heart of spring, the emotions you inspire, move me to sing of the fresh and sacrificial nature you bring!
In April, my father and his mother, my grandmother sweetest, were born. And, seven days later, in April, I made my debut in the world, one morn.
Mid April, so unforgiving, deprived me of my mother, an experience I keep reliving.
What of some great leaders of the past ages who, in April, were martyred? Abraham Lincoln and Dr. Martin Luther King, rest in peace with other great sages.
April, month of Easter joy and cheer, marks also the anniversary of the start of the 1994 genocide filled with death and fear.
April, a month of life, death, and rebirth, to me you are the most bittersweet month on Earth.
By Angeline Bandon-Bibum
Saturday, February 21, 2015
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
An Excerpt from Lamentation of a Warrior
The following is an excerpt from Lamentation of a Warrior:
CHAPTER ONE
Volcanoes National Park – Mount Muhabura, Rwanda
April 1994
As Joseph Kalisa ascended Mount Muhabura, he turned and glanced down at the numerous bodies floating in the Twin Lakes of Burera and Ruhondo at the base of the mountain. It was midmorning and the view would have been spectacularly pleasant, had it not been for the corpses floating in the lakes below. Joseph then thought of the international law books on the desk of his office, thousands of miles away in Washington, D.C., and about the 1948 Genocide Convention, which made genocide a crime under an international law. The law must be enforced, he thought. Yet, it was not. So, he had become a soldier in one of the many battalions of a rebel army.
Assigned to one of the platoons within the battalion, Joseph and other rebel soldiers in his platoon ascended the verdant base of Mount Muhabura, one of the mountains of Volcanoes National Park.
He was in his homeland, Rwanda, for the first time in fourteen years. Two days ago, Joseph had a filling meal of sorghum porridge and beans, yet he had walked off that meal in the two day trek into Rwandan territory. He was a part of a two platoon group. Joseph was tired and hungry. His feet and legs ached. His shoulders and back were sore from the weight of the M-60 machine gun over his left shoulder, the M-9 Pistol in the holster on his waist, additional ammunition, his backpack, which contained his tent, food rations, personal items, extra clothes, and a blanket.
Joseph thought about what Colonel Alexander Nkusi, who commanded their battalion, had said two days earlier, that killing groups were brutally killing Tutsi people, because of their ethnicity. He then thought of his family in Rwanda, his mother, his sister, and her children and husband. What was happening to them? He hoped that they’d miraculously survived the genocidal mass murders which were taking place all over his homeland. He wanted to see his family members and embrace them.
Sweat poured down Joseph’s back. He remembered his life growing up in his homeland of Rwanda. His mother was related to Rwandan royalty, although the official monarchy was defunct and no longer had any power. His father, who was murdered in 1973, had been a professor at the National University of Rwanda, before he was killed.
Joseph pondered on the signs of eventual disaster. His father was murdered, and, three years later, he was expelled from the Lycee, where he was an exemplary student. Joseph remembered that his expulsion was for no apparent reason. It was the ethnic division issue, coming back again, he thought. There was widespread harassment and killings of the Tutsi people during that time. These events convinced his mother to send him to Cameroon to attend school and to save his life.
Joseph survived and rebuilt his life in Cameroon, and then in the U.S.A. Yet, the ethnic division issue in his homeland kept getting worse, as his family and friends conveyed their experiences to him in phone conversations and desperate letters.
He thought about his recent lifestyle back in Washington, D.C. Two months ago, he was a corporate lawyer in a prestigious law firm in the heart of Washington, D.C. He had graduated from Princeton University and Georgetown Law School. He enjoyed life with his beautiful wife, Sojourner, and his toddler son, Joseph II. They lived in an elegant condominium. That life seemed like a dream, as he climbed up the mountain.
Copyright © 2007
By Angeline Bandon-Bibum
Purchase Lamentation of a Warrior on Amazon.com
CHAPTER ONE
Volcanoes National Park – Mount Muhabura, Rwanda
April 1994
As Joseph Kalisa ascended Mount Muhabura, he turned and glanced down at the numerous bodies floating in the Twin Lakes of Burera and Ruhondo at the base of the mountain. It was midmorning and the view would have been spectacularly pleasant, had it not been for the corpses floating in the lakes below. Joseph then thought of the international law books on the desk of his office, thousands of miles away in Washington, D.C., and about the 1948 Genocide Convention, which made genocide a crime under an international law. The law must be enforced, he thought. Yet, it was not. So, he had become a soldier in one of the many battalions of a rebel army.
Assigned to one of the platoons within the battalion, Joseph and other rebel soldiers in his platoon ascended the verdant base of Mount Muhabura, one of the mountains of Volcanoes National Park.
He was in his homeland, Rwanda, for the first time in fourteen years. Two days ago, Joseph had a filling meal of sorghum porridge and beans, yet he had walked off that meal in the two day trek into Rwandan territory. He was a part of a two platoon group. Joseph was tired and hungry. His feet and legs ached. His shoulders and back were sore from the weight of the M-60 machine gun over his left shoulder, the M-9 Pistol in the holster on his waist, additional ammunition, his backpack, which contained his tent, food rations, personal items, extra clothes, and a blanket.
Joseph thought about what Colonel Alexander Nkusi, who commanded their battalion, had said two days earlier, that killing groups were brutally killing Tutsi people, because of their ethnicity. He then thought of his family in Rwanda, his mother, his sister, and her children and husband. What was happening to them? He hoped that they’d miraculously survived the genocidal mass murders which were taking place all over his homeland. He wanted to see his family members and embrace them.
Sweat poured down Joseph’s back. He remembered his life growing up in his homeland of Rwanda. His mother was related to Rwandan royalty, although the official monarchy was defunct and no longer had any power. His father, who was murdered in 1973, had been a professor at the National University of Rwanda, before he was killed.
Joseph pondered on the signs of eventual disaster. His father was murdered, and, three years later, he was expelled from the Lycee, where he was an exemplary student. Joseph remembered that his expulsion was for no apparent reason. It was the ethnic division issue, coming back again, he thought. There was widespread harassment and killings of the Tutsi people during that time. These events convinced his mother to send him to Cameroon to attend school and to save his life.
Joseph survived and rebuilt his life in Cameroon, and then in the U.S.A. Yet, the ethnic division issue in his homeland kept getting worse, as his family and friends conveyed their experiences to him in phone conversations and desperate letters.
He thought about his recent lifestyle back in Washington, D.C. Two months ago, he was a corporate lawyer in a prestigious law firm in the heart of Washington, D.C. He had graduated from Princeton University and Georgetown Law School. He enjoyed life with his beautiful wife, Sojourner, and his toddler son, Joseph II. They lived in an elegant condominium. That life seemed like a dream, as he climbed up the mountain.
Copyright © 2007
By Angeline Bandon-Bibum
Purchase Lamentation of a Warrior on Amazon.com
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