PACKING UP

By Diane Cameron

That’s it!! I dreamed last night of my childhood home and it was beautiful.
No, it wasn’t an exotic faraway place with streets named after rare birds. Nor
has it ever been listed on Forbes “Best places to live”. As a matter of fact, I
can say with a certainty that most of you have probably never heard of it. I
have lived in at least 10 of the most desired cities in America, places that
were rumored to guarantee the highest lifestyle achievement. Hilton Head
Island, South Carolina was one of them. I loved it there because it was the
most reminiscent of Africa to me. Home to many of the descendants of the
enslaved people from West Africa mostly Sierra Leone, now known as the
Gullah-Gechee Nation. I was fascinated by the culture, food, and people yet
saddened by the bittersweet reminders of the dark times of life in slavery
after the middle passage; they are all there. Yet even on Hilton Head, it was
like watching daily through a glass window as a spectator would. I came to
learn that sharing the same experiences provided a certain bond between
people, but it’s like a distant cousin who you have never met coming to live
in your house. Although it isn’t deliberate, there is slight unavoidable
disconnect in the relationship.

The beautiful place I dreamed of is Malvern, Arkansas, a tiny town in Hot

Springs County that Wikipedia describes at the “Brick Capital of the World”.
Now hold on, before you start calling your travel agent booking flights to
Malvern. Let me tell you why I am going back. There is a certain point in your
life when you realize the years ahead of you are much fewer than those
behind. A memo from heaven in the form of failing memory, eyesight and
aches in places you didn’t even know had sensors, but nevertheless, the
message is still a wake-up call. “Take time to smell the roses”.

I am not sure if I have ever noticed one brick when I was growing up in
Malvern. Brick and mortar had nothing to do with my love for this special
location. Let me tell you what did; Louise & Hartsell Smith in my opinion,
were the epicenter of the world. Out from the two most wonderful
grandparents on the face of the earth flowed streams of love, acceptance
and memories that have sustained me to this day of how it feels to be really,
truly loved without requirements. So, armed with determination, the spirit of
Christopher Columbus and the heart of a child longing for home I am leaving
good ole Atlanta, the most current locale of unfulfillment. Oh I am not
blaming the ATL, neither am I pointing the finger at anyone. I am yearning
for my oyster shell, where the sand in my life can become a pearl.

Sure there are things I hope aren’t waiting for me; the segregated movie
theater where the African Americans could only sit in the balcony. Hopefully,
the colored and white drinking fountain has found itself in a civil rights
museum up north and I am already aware that, Wilson, Malvern’s colored
high school is no longer in use. Sadly, my grandparent’s home is now a
church parking lot. I think Joni Mitchell must have had that in mind when she
wrote the song, “Big Yellow Taxi”. For their home was truly “paradise” to me.
There are many loved ones that I won’t see who immediately come to mind;
Louise & Hartsell Smith, Danny Morgan, Ronnie Morgan, Patricia Bragg, little
Toni Morgan, my dear Uncle Gus Greene, great grandmother, Elsie Gloster,
Uncle Reuben, my cousin Melba Beard and my first boyfriend when I was 14
years old, J.R.S. There will be a tender nostalgic comfort that their final place
of rest is in Arkansas soil.

I have lived or visited many places in the world, Tokyo, three visits to West
Africa, one to South Africa, the Bahamas, Paris, France, Toronto and wherever
I was flying over to arrive at these locations. I think I am ready for Malvern
now.

Diane Cameron
www.itsallanact2.org
usaartistobenin@aol.com