Having spent the past week exploring the mythical side of New Orleans, full of ghost stories and vampires, it became evident that this week has been completely different. Everything this week has been real, full of emotion everywhere I looked.
We started by watching 12 Years a Slave, which tells the real story of Solomon Northrop, a free man who was sold into slavery. This film was deeply moving as it highlighted the injustices that were faced. Having only read about slavery, it became much more prevalent for me after the film and the visit to Whitney Plantation. Walking around the land and seeing the terrible living conditions that these people faced was eye-opening. For me, the most moving part was the statues of the children who once lived on the plantation and the harsh realities of their lives. We were given lanyards with someone's name and information. Henrietta Butler spent her childhood on the plantation before she was set free in 1864 under the Constitution.
"I was born in slavery. I'se not ashamed to tell it either and knows somethin' about it."
The audio at the end of the tour explained that this was not to make people feel sad but to educate. I realized how important it was for people to tell their stories—from Solomon, Henrietta, and Sarah.
The Yellow House by Sarah M. Broom is an autobiography and the first book of this trip that I couldn’t put down. She details her mother’s life and her own, throughout the years as she shares her story. The struggles she has had with defining home, whether it is a place or the people. She shares with us, the audience, what matters most to her.
“When people tell you their stories, they can say whatever they want.”
Clyde’s Bar
What someone shares with you matters. I had the pleasure of stumbling upon a bar with Mardi Gras colors on the walls and chairs, and pictures of a dog on every wall. I got talking to the man sitting next to me, who turned out to be the owner. He told me that it had been his dream to open a bar his entire life, and he finally did it in December after moving to New Orleans 30 years ago from San Francisco. He introduced us to Clyde, his dog, who is also the name of the place and the face on the walls. While I didn’t get his name, I got his story. When he asked what brought me to New Orleans, I explained Bookpacking. He got excited and said that A Confederacy of Dunces was his favorite book and it inspired him to move here.
On a ride back to the hotel, the Lyft driver Terrance shared that he was born in the Bayou an hour outside the city but has since moved to New Orleans. His passion for the place he calls home was inspiring, as he provided recommendations and ideas that we might enjoy for the rest of our time here. What stuck out to me most was how he talked about his friends: “When you meet a friend in New Orleans, that’s a lifelong friend.” This made me think of my home, the Isle of Man, where I have been lucky enough to make lifelong friends from the age of three.
Expression is another form of storytelling, providing an insight into who you are. I observed this firsthand at Preservation Jazz Hall during a performance where improv was a large part of the music. They worked together to highlight every single player during the performance, giving everyone the spotlight to express themselves through music. From the trombone to the piano, they managed to draw the attention of everyone in that room, despite the unwavering heat.
Earlier in the week, I had been to a drag show, where I watched the queens express themselves through dance moves and skills. The confidence and love for what they did shined through. The energy throughout the hour-long performance was never lost. I was left incredibly impressed and in awe of the talent and skill that it takes for both the drag queens and the jazz musicians.
This has made me think about what I would share, what’s my story? Is it where I came from, my family, my friends? Sarah grapples with what it meant to leave "home"—New Orleans for her—and how it changed her. I couldn’t help but notice that people often share where they came from in conversations I had, from San Francisco to the Bayou.
“What the gone away-from-home person learns are not the details that compose a life, but the headlines
”
I find myself relating. Having chosen to go to university so far away from home, I find myself missing and at times regretting being so far away. I worry about the events I’m missing or the dates I’m forgetting, but I can’t let this control me or define me.
“I did not yet understand the psychic cost of defining oneself by the place where you are from.”
My story is not the Isle of Man, but it has shaped who I am, influenced the ways I behave and view the world, and I think this is no different from Sarah and her relationship to New Orleans. I think a place does not define one’s story but instead informs it.
I still don’t know what I would say my story is. It is something that is forever changing and evolving. Perhaps my story is rooted in performance, like the musicians and drag queens. Having studied and been a part of theatre my whole life, I hold a deep connection to it. Maybe my story isn’t written or through words like that of Sarah. This week has taught me the importance of listening and learning from the people around you. These people inform a place; it is only through people that a place’s story can be told.