I walked over to the African Festival at the park near my house. But it feels like the Ugandan forest out there--hot and steamy--so I didn't last long. I picked up a food truck lunch (brisket, plantain mash, slaw, white bread I'm going to feed to the birds) and headed back down Communipaw to my cool ground floor studio.
The weather gave the African Festival a sense of authenticity, for what it's worth.
But when I went to cross Communipaw, a police car with lights flashing gave me pause. It was leading a parade of cars, cars with balloons, signs, horns a'blaring. A Black men's Harley club brought up the tail end of the parade, with another police car bookending the procession.
The signs were all handmade signs about freedom and Juneteenth, with a few professionally printed Black Lives Matter placards sprinkled in. As everyone honked their horns, they also gave the Black power salute out of their cars. Passing drivers did the same.
What a glorious homegrown holiday celebration. And inspiring. Maybe I'll go back and see some African drumming in a bit.
No comments:
Post a Comment