I love books! I am an avid reader and what my siblings would call “a complete nerd”. But I can’t help myself! Books are a gateway to worlds very different than my own…but they can also be so familiar that it seems as if I am reading about myself or some past life. I began my love affair with books when I was about 14. A friend of mine introduced me to the world of Danielle Steele and I have been hooked on reading every since. At first it was the romance novel, then on to mystery and then on to period pieces. The period pieces are my favorite though. I love stories about Blacks living in the antebellum south. Some of my favorite authors who have covered this time period are folks like Lalita Tademy, Octavia Butler, Charles Chesnutt and of course Alex Haley. But there are others too like Toni Morrison, Nella Larsen and Zora Neale Hurston (all who’s works have explored Black feminism in addition to that complicated discussion of race) who are the “begin all to end all” in my world. I would like to become a storyteller one day. Ever since seeing Roots: The Next Generations, the story of Alex Haley, I have desired to become a writer. My life in some ways is similar to his: neither one of us were great students…though that changed in our collegiate years. We both come from families that took great pride in education early on; believing it to be the path to freedom. We both experienced doubt about our futures; what were we meant to do and why did it seem that destiny was in slow motion regarding our lives. We both have/had fathers that were educators who found idle minds intolerable. But what’s so great is that through the efforts of our families to keep our history alive, stories were passed down to us. Creating memories, not at first our own, but then suddenly becoming very familiar. From there, a passion was created and often I have thought to write the history of my family in this country and before if I can. I can’t tell you how spectacular that would be for me.

If you’ve never watched Roots: The Next Generations, there’s a part in it where Mr. Haley has began his endeavor to seek out his ancestors. Specifically the one that they called Kunta Kinte. During his search, Mr. Haley ends up in Africa and has more or less, hit a brick wall. The local medicine man has agreed to meet him and recite the history of the families that have lived in the area. Believe it or not, this elder is so versed in tribal history that his story dates back two centuries. You may or may not know, but this is called oral history. Africans utilized this practice as many, if any, did not write therefore they chose a respected person, usually a male, to collect, recite and pass on the village’s history.  As interested and excited as you might be, after five hours a person can become disenchanted with their quest as Mr. Haley did. Not because of the stories that were being told, but because of the story that he believed was not being told…and that was of his ancestor Kunta. But then, the elder says “and his son was Kinte who was taken by the waters.” My heart is skipping beats because Mr. Haley who is incredibly fatigued doesn’t hear the elder’s words. And after a few moments, he becomes frustrated and ask the elder how much longer it will be before he gets to the story of the Kinte family. Well the elder stops in mid-sentencebecause he knows, as everyone knows, that you don’t rush elders when they speak and he will take as long as is needed to recite the story.

 Okay folks, now I’m clutching my hands and praying that the elder will repeat himself and he does! By God, the stars are aligned in the universe and he repeats himself. Tears are falling from my eyes as Mr. Haley exclaims, “You old African! I found you! I found you!” In a flash, the whole village begins to hug and kiss Mr. Haley. Welcoming him home to the land of his ancestors. He cries and laughs….and cries. As he is getting on a raft to leave the village, he is startled by someone screaming Kinte, Kinte. Everyone looks as the man steps in front of Mr. Haley and says Kinte. Mr. Haley looks at the man in what would seem to be confusion. The man says to him, “I am Kinte. You are my brother.” Mr. Haley embraces this young man and grieves. He is overcome by his emotions as he realizes that this young man is a distant relative…a cousin perhaps. God help me…but I am clutching my cheeks and crying as if I were standing there witnessing this moment…realizing that this is also my history, and I am thankful for it.

 On a quick note, James Earl Jones portrays Mr. Haley, but as far as I’m concerned he played the role to the hilt because all I see is Mr. Haley standing there. It was Mr. Haley’s experience that shown through.

I’ve seen this mini-series many, many times. As a child it affected me and as an adult I still watch and cry as if it is the first time that I have watched it.

This is what great storytelling is to me. Something that can be read or heard over and over again! This is what the authors that I mentioned above, and so many more, have done for me. So much so, that I want to be like them. I want to carry in my bosom the history of my people…the history of my race. Passing it down and so forth and so on, so that it may live until all time ends.

There must be passion, there must be truth, there must be a kinship with your audience to become a good storyteller.

 This is what I want to become someday, hoping that maybe I will move someone as deeply as I have been moved by the stories of a people long ago.