My name is Sara Stevens Nichols, and my pronouns are she/her. My father’s line of English ancestors accumulated and passed on wealth made by taking vast tracks of land from the Agua Caliente Band of Cahuilla Indians in what is now Palm Springs, California. My Scottish and Welsh ancestors on my mother’s side accumulated and passed on wealth made on the backs of enslaved Africans that they presumed to own.
Greetings from Charleston, South Carolina: the birthplace of my mother, the confederacy, and the gateway to slavery in America. I share this on the heels of reading my colleague and teacher, Rev. Andriette Earl’s mandatory spiritual guide to America, entitled “Divine Discomfort” in the February 2024 edition of Science of Mind Magazine. Rev. Earl’s series, while purporting to be a 30-day spiritual guide to (American) Black History Month, also provides us with an enduring handbook for all Americans envisioning and working for a world that works for everyone. Each page is a different “how I got over” story written unapologetically from a black perspective in Rev. Andriette’s voice (hence, coming from and possibly engendering discomfort for anyone with a different perspective). Despite copious reading on the lives of Black Americans, many of the stories, like the 1619 Project, were brand new to me. My lineage, coupled with this guide, and capped off by a visit to the must-see International African American Museum down on Gadsden’s Wharf–where it is said that at least 40% of all African captives entered the United States–plunges me into a deep state of “divine discomfort.”
My mother, Maryann “Lee” Engle Etchison Nichols, was born in 1933 in Charleston, South Carolina. Lee was raised by a Black woman from the Gullah Geechee culture (celebrated and lifted up in the museum) named Lulabell, whom she called “Mammy.” Lulabell passed to our mother, who handed on to me, a love of food, song, and a few words that might have come from that tradition.
My most special childhood breakfast included Gullah Geechee standards: grits, fish roe, and fried eggs over easy, all mixed together. On New Year’s Day, for good luck, we always made (or talked about making) “Hopping John,” a dish made from black-eyed peas, rice, and vegetables.
One of my earliest memories is my mother singing, “Mama’s Little Baby Loves Short’nin’ Bread.” Although she grew up singing “Mammy,” she sang “Mama” for me.
Mammy’s little baby loves short’nin’, short’nin’
Mammy’s little baby loves short’nin’ bread
Pull out the skillet, pull out the led,
Mama’s gonna make a little short’nin’ bread
That ain’t all she’s gonna do,
Mama’s gonna make a little coffee too
Fotch dat dough fum the kitchin-shed
Rake de coals out hot an’ red
Putt on de oven an’ putt on de led
Mammy’s gwiner cook som short’nin’ bread
