On Wednesday, March 30th, Mark, Sandy, Robin, and I left Brooklyn College to head to the African Burial Ground in Manhattan. We left immediately (by immediately, I meant we stopped by Burger King and bought food; we had coupons yaaas!) after English class at approximately 11:00 am. We went ahead of the rest of the class because we had a Biology midterm at 3:40 pm and we didn’t want to be late to that. Our delightful and loveable Bio professor, Barbara Studamire, wouldn’t be so happy about that.

We took the 5 train all the way to the Brooklyn Bridge-City Hall stop. When we got out of the station, I instantly smelled food. There were two Halal food carts next to one another right in front of the station exit. You know there’s some good five dollar chicken over rice with a free soda when you smell it from afar. I was also struck with feelings of nostalgia while walking to our destination. I spent 10 years going to grade and middle school in that area. My mom also used to work around there. I was reminded of the times I’d walk in that area on the way home from school with my mom.

Because I was familiar with the area, Mark suggested that I take lead in getting our group to the African Burial Ground. I got to the place with no problems. Afterwards, Mark said to me how surprised he was at how short we walked to get there since it seemed longer to him on Google Maps (take that Google!; Mitch-1, Google-0).

When we first arrived to the building adjacent to the memorial itself, we could not find the entrance to the museum. We just stood in front of a gold building and the guard in front told us to step aside. Then he asked, “What are you here for?” and we just said we were students on a field trip and so, he directed us around the block. After some moments of confusion, we were able to find the entrance. What a relief, right?

Nah, the guard in front of the entrance asked us like the guard before him, “What are you here for?”. He seemed pretty serious and legit. In my head I’m saying, “What do you think we’re here for?”, but saying it out loud would have probably hurt his feelings and I’m trying this thing where I’m trying to be nice to people. He goes on to explain that this was a government whatever and whatever and something something let me see your IDs. I nearly gave him my ID for some amusement park that I had in my wallet from a while back. I mean it had my picture and my name on it…so I guess it was valid photo ID, right? Anyways, I gave him my Brooklyn College ID which has a picture of me with a moody face to show him how I felt about him.

Oh boy, it didn’t stop there with the security guards. Once in the building, we had to go through an airport-like security check. I had to take everything off: my belt, my shoes, my backpack, my loose change, my watch, my jacket, my sweater, my dignity etc. It was an even more tedious task putting all of that back on me. I even told the group, “Next time we go here, I am coming in wearing only my bathrobe”.

Wax figures of African Americans praying and mourning around a wooden coffin.

Once inside, I was surprised by how small the museum was. I’m sure others may have been shocked to see the five figures of the African Americans gathered around a wooden coffin. From afar, I thought they were actual people, but upon closer examination, they were actually wax figures. The detailing on each figure, from the grooves in their hands to their clothes and to their facial expressions, made them look so real to me. You could clearly see the sadness in their faces even though they were just wax figures.

Laws regarding slave treatment in New York (1681-1788)

As I moved along the exhibit, something caught my eye. It was a block of text way in the back right corner. I was shocked when I saw it. It was a long list of laws in regards to African slaves, specifically in New York. What shocked me was that I always thought of the North being anti-slavery and the South being pro-slavery. It was so interesting to see that this was not always the case throughout the nation’s history. Each law written was so specific and seemed to encompass every single aspect of a slave’s life. These laws embodied some of the difficult experiences of slaves especially in a place like New York City.

Joggers on a bench and workers talking.

We then decided to leave the museum and go to the memorial outside. The overall feeling of the memorial was quiet and tranquil which was a stark contrast from all of the noises that one would usually associate with New York City. When I first stepped into the area where the memorial stood. I found that it not only served as a memorial, but that it was also like a small park. I saw people sitting on the benches nearby. There were two joggers and some workers there. They didn’t seem like they were there to view the memorial specifically; they were just there to take a break somewhere that was quiet and peaceful.

“Circle of the Diaspora”

One of the interesting parts of the memorial itself was the pit below the triangular structure. The walls circling the pit had symbols on it that I assumed were religious since I saw the Latin cross of the Christian faith and the moon and star of the Islamic faith. The floor of the pit was what seemed to me like the map of the earth. It was a beautiful display of spirituality all interconnected within one place. Although this was a government establishment and there’s this thing of “separation between church and state”, it was just amazing to see religion and spirituality being allowed to be expressed in order to honor those who were buried in that area and all of the history that was kept (literally buried underneath) from people for a very long time.

The memorial truly served to show us who we were and who we are as one person wrote on one of the visitor postcard messages displayed in the museum:

“Never Forget Your ROOTS!” -UB

Couldn’t have said it better myself, buddy.