African American Day of the Ancestors: Reviving Our Gravesweeping Ritual, Sunday, Nov. 5, 2017

Gravesweeping Brooms

Iya Wanda Ravernell, founder Omnira Institute

Iya Wanda Blake

Iya Wanda Ravernell and Iya Wanda Blake completed the ritual

Sweeping the Graves

Sweeping the Graves

Gathering Flowers to put on the clean gravemarkers

Awon Ohun Omnira Choir members

Iya Nedra in front; Wanda B.  and Wanda R

Iya Wanda R. and Iya Wanda B. clean the big headstone

Sweeping the graves

Sweeping the Graves

Iya Nedra

Sweeping the Graves

Iya Nedra

Sweeping the Graves

Iya Nedra

Iya Nedra with her Egungun 

Sweeping the Graves

Markings at the Gravesite

Iya Wanda B. (L) with Iya Wanda R. consult

Iya Wanda B. (L) with Iya Wanda R (R) consult

Iya Wanda Ravernell sweeping the graves

Sweeping the Graves

Sweeping the Graves

Sweeping the Graves

Feeding the Ancestors

African American Day of the Ancestors

Feeding the Ancestors

Oya returns

African American Day of the Ancestors

African American Day of the Ancestors

Water bowl

Pouring out the water

Pouring out the water

Returning with empty bowl

African American Day of the Ancestors

African American Day of the Ancestors

Farewell Ancestors song

Wanda Ravernell, founder, Ominra Institute

African American Day of the Ancestors

African American Day of the Ancestors

Sweeping the Graves of the Ancestors November 5, 2017

Sunday at Evergreen Cemetery Omnira Institute hosted for the second year, an African American Day of the Ancestors, with a revival of the Gravesweeping Ritual, an African American tradition where the community gathers to honor the ancestors by cleaning the gravesites.  This particular grave sweeping is special because it honors those people killed in Jonestown, Guyana 59 years ago, many of the deceased children—

As we stood on the hill, a panoramic view of the San Francisco Bay just beyond the site of the mass grave is marked with a plaque dated November 18, 1978, the date of the massacre. Brother Tobaji Stewart (Apon, Iya drum), Calvin Holmes (Itotele drum)  and Brother Sosu Randolph (Okonkolo drum) along with Awon Ohun Omnira choir led the ensemble through the sacred chants and songs—

We met at the cemetery gates on 64^th and Camden in Oakland where we washed ourselves with blessed herbal waters to protect us along this journey of remembrance. We then lined up behind the drummers and beside singers and walked in procession up the hill to the Jonestown Memorial.  The majority present, dressed in white, walked up the hill—others met us halfway there like Iya Nedra who then joined us. An elder, she said she was doing this for the ancestors as she struggled up the steep path alone, refusing my assistance.

I wore funeral attire from Ghana—red and black with Gye Nyame symbols in the pattern. The Adinkra symbol represents the omnipotence of the creator.[1]  The ancestors keep us connected tangibly to a spiritual system that honors the unbroken relationship between the realms—the earth and the heavens, the seen and the unseen, the born and yet to be born.

I’d just learned that morning that Sister Intisar Sharif had died the previous day, a beautiful woman whose life was dedicated to our children, especially orphans. As head of the Early Childhood Education Department at Contra Costa College in San Pablo, she started a certificate program for grandparents who were now parenting their grandchildren. This support group grew into a large community support system replicated throughout the bay area, maybe country.  She also was a pioneer in making sure black children had quality preschool education—a Montessori trained scholar, this methodology was one she used in communities traditionally without such innovations in child development.

Brother Tobaji spoke about the meaning of the opening song—it spoke about the bodies of the deceased and the state they were in when they left . . . . I remembered the tragedy at Jonestown and how for days and weeks the dead were left to rot and decompose in the heat where they lay.  By the time forensic doctors and investigators were ready to identify the dead, their identifying marks were gone.  Evergreen cemetery was the only cemetery which agreed to bury the over 900 bodies – I don’t know what the area is called, but there is a bench nearby and a building.

Tobaji Stewart pours libations

I saw the names of my cousin Mary Lewis there on the hill.  I’d just called her name during morning rituals and then as I walked back down the hill, I saw other family names on headstones. 

As Brother Tobaji, drummers and singers, played Mojuba: Recitation of spiritual lineage, we were invited to call the names of our ancestors, then Iya Wanda Ravernell handed out two sheets of paper to each of us with names of Jonestown Massacre Victims to recite.

We called the names of the 900-1000 people multiple times.  This year I had numbers 550-687.  Last year I had 1050 to 1049.  We wanted to let these ancestors hear our cries as we lifted their names, silenced for so long.  Iya Nedra brought her Egungun Mask this year; initiated into this society she spoke of the ancestor dances and lamented the fact that she had not danced in years.  Her Egun costume was on the opposite end of the Oya altar.  She took off her shoes, feet covered in efun or white chalk and danced. 

Tobaji Stewart pours libations

In front of the drummers were several altars—with water and flowers and a rod with ribbons on it.  Symbols were drawn along the concrete borders surrounding the site where three large grave markers held the hundreds of names— Baba Tobaji Stewart poured libations and called the ancestors to open the ceremony once we were at the burial site.

Iya Wanda Blake had brooms with ribbons and different colored handles prepared for the sweeping and she also had prepared a special sweeping drink for the ancestors, for the earth, for us which she poured on the stone markers as we sweep the graves as we began Oro Egun or songs for the ancestors with Awon Ohun Omnira.

This was the part I had been waiting for, the actual sweeping. As I looked at the names of those lying below—I felt even sadder that so many lives had been taken from us.  Iya Nedra spoke of the children, families left behind and the impact this violent loss had on her students whom she hadn’t known were “those children.”

Several times Iya Wanda Ravernell took her wand and waved it over our heads, walked around the graves sweeping the energy, Oya, diety of the gravesite, very much present that afternoon as she always is.  The spirit of the children was also present that afternoon—I wish I’d brought some candy for them and some bubbles from the car.  Next year.

As the emotions rose several members present felt the ghosts, spoke in tongues, relayed messages from those departed ones. We were attentive to the missives and promised to remember and act.  It was a humbling, fullfilling experience to be present once again on a November afternoon to sweep the graves of our ancestors.

Baba Tobaji cooked a meal for the ancestors – black-eyed peas, collard greens, cornbread and yams.  After the graves were swept, and flowers laid on the tombs, the meal was served.  The liturgy continued nonstop through the entire ceremony.  The songs then shifted to those honoring the deities—Elegba, Oshun, Oya, Obatala, Shango. . . . The Farewell song – hands waving so long, until next time— closed the rite  and then Tobaji spoke about the significance of closing the circle.

We then had to wash ourselves with the herbal bath. 

Iya Nedra had put efun or chalk on our foreheads—it was a full moon that weekend and the lunar energies were also felt.  My friend, Neter Aa Meri drank a special brew he’d made for the full moon ceremonies that weekend—rum, vodka, red chili peppers, garlic, ginger . . . for the moon which is in Aries.

Wanda Sabir at Dad's gravesite that evening

I took a plate to my father in Hayward.  He is interned at the Chapel of the Chimes in Al Jannah Ar Rahim (Garden of Mercy).  His birthday was two weeks prior, also on a Sunday.  He would like the black eyed peas and yams and greens with corn bread.  I saw other families with their loved ones that night at the cemetery visiting with their dead. I had a bit of the meal with Daddy, so he would not feel that he was eating alone.  It was delicious.

Fred Ali Batin Sabir, her father with meal

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[1] Allahu Akbar—God is greater.