Who Tells My Grandmother’s Story?
Alzamay Wallace-Brown
In April I found myself in my living room crying and asking my grandmother to come and guide me. I asked her to visit me.
I had never called out to her in this way.
I’m not sure what the rush of energy was that day, but it was intense.
Speaking to the ancestors is not a practice I grew up with, not one I can say I felt fully comfortable with…until now.
Despite the new sentiment of yearning for her presence now, I’ve always been curious about my grandmother’s story. She passed away in 2004 when I was a senior in high school and I believe I’ve always held a deep regret of not asking more questions and listening to her stories more intently.
Here’s what I know about my grandmother, or most of what is known by the family:
- She was born Alzamay Daphnee Wallace-Brown
- in Kingston, Jamaica
- She knew nothing about her mother, not even her name.
- She was raised by her grandmother.
- Migrates to the states at age 19 with Spanish as her native language.
- Had to learn English (we later learn this was incorrect).
- She married John “JB” Musgrove (formerly a Musco native of Louisiana).
- She mothered 6 children and birthed 3.
A lot of her story had been lost or untold. The older I get the more I want to learn who my grandmother was as a woman. What her experiences in life were like, her journey, the healing (or not), the sacrifices, and the struggles that molded her into everything she was and aspired to become.
Sometime in high school is when I learned that my grandmother didn’t know much about her mother, in fact, I’m not sure she knew anything about her. What we know is that her mother didn’t raise her and had no contact with her possibly since birth. It’s still a little fuzzy about whether her father raised her or her grandmother ( paternal or maternal). But I remember the moment I internalized my grandmother’s upbringing, I felt connected to her in a way I hadn’t felt connected to any woman in my life before then, because I too had mommy wounds.
My mother struggled with drug and alcohol addictions my whole life. As a child I witnessed things my eyes should have never seen and heard more than I needed. I lived with her until the age of 8 when the courts finally gave my father custody after years of battling. I’ve always had a tumultuous rship with my mother. For her, parenting never existed and she was pretty absent in my life until I had my daughter at the age of 32. That’s when the real healing began, anything before that was avoidance and cover up.
But I at least had the privilege of knowing who my mother was. What was it like to grow up without knowing who your mother was and how would that affect your identity as a woman? Because I know I struggled with the womanhood quest having a lack of examples in my life. It’s not often you hear about the mother being absent, or at least in my world it wasn’t.
Born in Jamaica, migrating to Panama (great migration), growing up with what family?, and setting sail to America at 21….that is my grandmother’s life and the story that has been passed down to me. But what happened between that time? Who raised her? Did her mommy wounds ever heal? How? What was it like living in Panama? What were her indigenous spiritual practices? Spanish was her native language, how did she meet the sailor who brought her to America? What was her experience getting here like? When and how did she learn English? What was her green card process like? How did she meet my grandfather, a Louisiana native? How did her healing wounds affect the family? Who was she?
I have so many unanswered questions and a child like curiosity about her life and experiences. On her birthday 4/4/2022 I found myself up late, maybe until 2am eyes burning from staring at the screen. I started the quest to find out. Googling, texting, creating incomplete family trees on Ancestry.com, and coming to terms with the resistance to not give my DNA sample. Yes I hit submit and ordered my kit.
The experience was much like the COVID saliva tests where you spit into a tube, mix with a little solution, and mail it back. I mean the government most def had my traceable DNA and I might as well leave it for my future generations to find and discover my story…just like this blog!
This is my story, my history, my lineage, and my ancestors. This is my first step forward in self-discovery and I invite you on the journey with me.
