Noemi - Daughter of Freed Slaves

[Ailish]

I did a meditation last weekend with my mom. I'd really been looking forward to it -it had been a while for both of us and unfortunately she got interrupted! Usually we have interesting experiences together - cross-overs and shared memories...but we haven't had a good one together for a very long time.

Near the end I gravitated towards my life as Noemi, the daughter of freed slaves. As Noemi, I never experienced slavery myself, but I saw the scars it left upon my mother and father - emotionally and physically. My mother never wanted me or my brother to know what it meant to be a slave; she tried to hide it from us, rarely speaking about her life before freedom. My sister Carrie knew, but she was much older than Teddy and I. She was close to our mother in a different way than us younger kids were.

Teddy and I may have been "born free," but that freedom was still limited at the time. The town was segregated - there was a definite white/black area. I remember walking through the trees along a path to the white side where my mother worked, and how the people treated her. She didn't let it bother her - at least not in front of me. But at some point, she stopped taking me to work with her when things got a little rough. I know she worried for us all.

I found great joy in the little things in life - and my great passion was singing. I was plenty fussed over by the little old ladies in the community that gathered around in the afternoons to chat and share their stories. My special friend was "Miss Ella," and to me she was a very wise old woman who knew a lot about music - and life!

Here's what I wrote in my journal from last weekend:

I went to Noemi's life and I was standing up in front of the church congregation singing about "the blood of the lamb." I felt so happy and carefree, standing up there singing - like it was what I was meant to do. It came from some place deep inside me - that soulful vibration. I looked over and saw my Momma and Daddy and my brother Teddy all smiling at me. My sister was there with her new husband, and I was feeling proud cuz she was so pretty.

I was getting random brief flashes of Noemi's life - carrying wood into the house. Momma telling me to sit still while she braided my hair. Playing with my sister's baby. Climbing up the little stairs to the attic room I shared with Teddy. Walking with Momma through the white part of town when she went to work. Sitting outside the white lady's house waiting for Momma. Skipping down the dirt road through the trees with Momma calling to me to slow down.

The next day I googled the "blood of the lamb and negro spirituals" and found reference in Questia to a song from 1764 called "Been wash'd in the blood of the Lamb." There is a similar reference in an 1800's hymnal - dunno if it's the same song, but I'm betting on an adaptation of the original. I looked on youtube and although there are similarities between the songs, the current versions lack the "soul" I remember experiencing during my meditation.

One thing that stays with me very strongly from Noemi's memories - is the joy of song. Worshiping in church was a whole different experience; it wasn't a bunch of people sitting all proper and quiet and reciting back things, and fire and brimstone sermons. It was joy - pure joy. Being thankful - and being together in Spirit. The preaching made people rise up together in joy - not be knocked down by fear of damnation. The congregation would sing back, hands clapping, feet stomping...it was beautiful!

I have many vivid memories of Noemi, her life and her family, recorded in journals, both old and new. Many of the validations have to do with music. Eventually I may share some more of her life here on the forum

Aili

 

[alaskanlaughter]

That sounds like such a happy life! Thanks for sharing it. I'd love to hear more.

 

[ChrisR]

Thanks for sharing Aili :thumbsup: Nice memories and a good validation...... I'm also looking forward to hearing more about Noemi's life


Chris

 

[soulfreindly]

Nice to hear about your life Ailish.


WHat hit me was how even though you were born free , the freedom was limited at that time. The scars would have still been deeply felt from your parents and family relations. Do you remember other family around you like distant relatives? . I would imagine with the way slaves were shipped and traded around many important ties would be broken for ever.. or what would definitely feel forever at that time. How sad. I guess regression work might help people feel more rooted to family etc.. In history so many people have been uprooted.

 

[Ailish]

Thank you for your comments, everyone I'll share some more notes from my journal - perhaps this weekend.


Soulfreindly, there was no other family besides my parents, brother, sister and my sister's husband (and eventually their baby). I don't recall if my parents ever spoke of their own parents or siblings; perhaps they didn't know their origins. I don't feel that we missed out on not having grandparents or aunts and uncles, though. It was a very close, very loving community and there were always people around. They all felt like family to me - they were all I knew.

 

[soulfreindly]

, there was no other family besides my parents, brother, sister and my sister's husband (and eventually their baby). I don't recall if my parents ever spoke of their own parents or siblings; perhaps they didn't know their origins. I don't feel that we missed out on not having grandparents or aunts and uncles, though. It was a very close, very loving community and there were always people around. They all felt like family to me - they were all I knew.

That is a wonderful example of how love of a strong community can bind. Considering the weight of your families experience being slaves, it is a testiment to the human spirit. How lovely.. :thumbsup:

 

[Tinkerman]

Thanks for sharing Aili, I enjoyed reading this. The joy of song is powerful indeed...a release for the soul.


Tman

 

[deborah]

HI Aili,


I am curious about the spelling of the name you posted here. Noemi. I hope you do share more. I am interested in the knowing of being born "free" - and how you determined you were free.


I came across something today that caught my attention in my journals from 1992.

 

[Ailish]

HI

I am curious about the spelling of the name you posted here. Noemi.

I was named for a friend of my mother's I never met. Momma wouldn't talk about her (that I remember), except to say she was "joy in a dark place." My name was pronounced No-emmy. My family called me No-no.

I am interested in the knowing of being born "free" - and how you determined you were free.

My brother and I were raised knowing we were born free. I explained that my parents didn't talk much about the past, but my mother bore the scars of many whippings on her back. She tried desperately to hide the physical scars from us - it was not something she wanted us to see. Here's a memory from my journal I know some of you have read:

Momma's got scars on her back - deep, winding, twisting scars. I see her in the bath and she tries to cover them by slipping under the water. When I ask her about them she says, “Never you mind, now get!” I walk to the tub and put my little hands on her dark back with the white criss-crosses and say “Oh Momma, you hurt.” Momma tells me “It ain't a matter for lil girls.” I have tears in my eyes. Someone hurt my Momma. Momma looks at me and says, “Noemi, bad things they be happenin’ in this world. But we a free people. No one ain’t gonna hurt us no more, baby.” I hear myself ask her what the marks are and she tells me - they are freedom. I try asking more questions, but Momma’s done talking. She tells me to go and play.

Sometimes she talked about her friends and the old ways. Not often, but when she did Teddy and I were horrified and transfixed by her words. Sometimes, we'd catch all the ladies reminsicing over cold sweet tea (a treat!) and pick up some details here and there, until someone noticed us and shooed us away. We knew we were free but still living in difficult times. From my journal:

I am seven when IT happens. I hear Momma and Daddy talking’ about all the “upset” with the white folks lately. I hear Momma crying. She says sometimes she feels “we ain’t neva gonna be free.” Daddy’s telling her they have a good life now compared to “back then.” Momma’s next words scare me - she says “they hangin’ our kind fo no reason but hate. Our chillen is dyin’ and scares me somethin’ to think of my babies in this world.” They are talking in hushed tones now. I can’t hear them, so I creep a little farther down the ladder/stairs. They squeak and I see Daddy standing there when I look up. He tells me to go back to bed. But I am shaking. I feel cold. And scared. He picks me up and carries me up to my room and tucks me into my bed. He tells me to go to sleep and kisses my forehead.

Teddy and I knew we were different from the rest of our family - that we had opportunities they'd only dreamed of, such as education. Getting an education was important to my parents - and they were extremely proud of us when we learned to read and write so young. My sister knew the basics, but she was married young and had her own baby to care for. She wasn't much into learning anyway; she just wanted her own space and her own family to care for.


As far as I know - I only lived in one home. It was owned by my parents and they were so very proud of it. It was small, but cozy and well taken care of. Here's how I described it in my journal:

Our house is small – made of wood, which is white-washed and there are wooden shingles on the roof which are brown - and you can see where water has stained them. There is a little window at the point at the top, which is the attic where we kids sleep. There is a nice garden in the back that runs down the whole left side and a small front porch with chairs and a little table. There are no rails on the porch, but three steps up. There is a huge tree out front with an old rope swing my Daddy hung for us kids before I was born. I love to swing.
The front door is big and has a place where you put wood across that acts as a lock. There is a big room with a “kitchen” area off to one side. We have a black woodstove with a pipe that goes outside through the wall. There is a wooden table and chairs. There is a small room down toward the back with shelves. It’s like a big closet. Momma keeps it stocked with flour and sugar and glass jars. Then Momma and Daddy’s room is there. There is a small staircase that folds up to the ceiling - it’s almost like a ladder, and when you climb up you are in the attic. It’s the room I share with my brother and it’s divided by a cloth.

My Momma worked for the white people on "their side" and I actually loved helping her. I was fascinated by all of their "fine things" - and yes, a little ashamed of our tiny home at times and wishing to have their riches. I was pretty jealous of a white girl named Amelia...she was a brat, but oh how I envied her at times. From my journal:

I am staring into the mirror at my brown skin, curly hair and dark eyes. I hear Momma tell me to stop “lovin’ yourself” and come set the table. But I’m not lovin’ myself. I quietly put the dishes on the table. So quiet, Momma asks where the songs are. I shrug at her. She grabs me by the chin and asks me what’s wrong and I ask her if God can really do anything. She stares at me so long I feel myself shrink a little. “What you got cookin’ in that head of yours now, Miss No-no?” she asks me. I ask her if God can make my hair straight and my eyes blue like Amelia’s (Amelia is the white daughter of one of the people Momma works for). “Don’t be wishin for what you ain’t, chile. You a beautiful baby, jus like you is. ‘Melia ain’t beautiful inside and she don’t sing a note worth hearin’.” I feel myself smiling.

I came across something today that caught my attention in my journals from 1992.

What's that? If you feel like sharing.

 

[Truthseeker]

That's an amazing story Aili. Thanks for sharing.

 

[deborah]

Hi Aili,


I came across this. Perhaps I have the spelling (pronunciation) wrong. Perhaps it was another girl. Who knows - but it did get my attention.

I am in a very large white house in the kitchen. An eight year old girl was helping the older women make bread. Her name was Naomi, and she was singing. I smiled, cause boy! Could that girl sing. I appreciated that about her.
I didn’t work in the kitchen, I didn’t even know how to cook. I was a house attendant and housekeeper. Cleaning, always cleaning, ironing and bringing things to the Mrs. I had to be careful, careful all the time, to be perfect, to do it just right.

Thanks for sharing more!

 

[kmatjhwy]

Ailish, Thanks for sharing! What amazing memories and have soooo much enjoyed reading.

 

[Sunniva]

Thank you for sharing, Aili! It was a very interesting read.

 

[Ailish]

Thank you for reading, and for your comments everyone! It was a happy, joyful life despite the hardships. There was so much love - it overshadowed everything else


Mom - That's very interesting about the name Naomi and my Noemi. And the fact that they both sang. Perhaps we'll have to do a meditation soon For those of you who haven't read Deborah's memories of her slave lifetime, please check out the following link in our Archives: Clara's Story


Aili