Milestones And Mami: A Retrospective of EssenceFest With My 70-Year-Old Mother
Taking my mother to the EssenceFest turned out to be the biggest tribute to her and Black motherhood and a full circle moment to my family’s legacy and milestones.
Cambridge Dictionary defines a milestone as “an important event in the development or history of something or someone’s life.”
Well, 2024 has undoubtedly presented a year of milestones for us. My mother turned 70, and I turned 50. Together, we celebrated 30 years of the Essence Festival of Culture in the city of New Orleans during the Fourth of July weekend. What began as just a work-related trip evolved into an homage to my Mami, mother- and daughter-hood. It was my second Essence Festival. My inaugural visit, the year prior, was fruitful but unaccompanied. I distinctly remember the matriarch of my family “casually” mentioning that she wanted to attend the marquee event “one day.”
That memory crept up on me as I planned my attendance for 2024.
Without hesitation, I invited the Queen. She met me in Crescent City and wasted no time hitting the streets.
I watched Mami consume the wonder, energy and splendor of EssenceFest against the backdrop of Black women and under the ambiance of New Orleans. The realization of what this moment truly meant to me as a mother and daughter overwhelmed me.
“Milestones for EssenceFest, myself and My Mami. The first two images are surreal for me. I remember dreaming of being in @essence when it ran the generations issue every year as a child. Women would submit photos of themselves with the female members of their immediate families—multi-generational beauties—and I just had to be in it. I wanted it to be my grandmother, Mami, my sister and me,” I wrote on Instagram.
“That didn’t happen, but something even more special did. I am truly humbled and grateful to still have my mother.. to have sat at the feet of the elder women in my family… to become a part of matrilineal bloodline brilliance that will continue our family legacy for many years to come.”
“New Orleans isn’t my place of birth, but I certainly felt at home there. But, por la parte de mi Daddy, we got patrilineal roots in Metairie and St. Charles Parrish by way of the Congos (Bantu) folks. Here’s to Milestones, Motherhood, and Melanin Magic.🖤💋 Bendición, Ma!❤️🤍👑💙,” I concluded.
At 70 years old, Mami is the epitome of an ageless fly girl. We celebrated her birthday in May. As far as she is concerned, it’s a year-long celebration. EssenceFest is no different. The 30th anniversary and star-studded fete held up to its Essence. Mami did the Wobble and Tamia hustles countless times, attended the African Pride Mixer with Trina (Yes, that Trina and my Mama), shopped, sipped and watched me work.
At one point, we were fittingly passing La Habana Hemingway Cigar’s on Bourbon Street, and the shop had Frankie Ruiz’s “Tú Con Él” blasting from its speakers. Mami stopped mid-stride and extended her hand. I obliged her, interlocking my fingers with hers and hitting Guapea. Midnight dancing timba on Bourbon Street with Mami is exactly the flex it sounds like. In that moment, nothing else mattered or existed but the clave, my Mami, me and the magically majestic and simultaneous swaying of hips spread by our husband’s babies.
Moment of transparency: I live daily knowing I am on borrowed time with the woman who birthed me, and I lacked that awareness until the death of my Daddy in 2017.
Mami and Kekita.
For as much as she appeared to enjoy the atmosphere– she was reserved and guarded… or rather – vigilant.
As I watched her reticent revelry, I couldn’t help but think that she didn’t even own a credit card in her name until the year I was born—1974. And there she was, My 70-year-old mother, watching her 50-year-old daughter whip out her own credit card with impunity.
The same year EssenceFest was launched– former President Bill Clinton signed the “Violence Against Women Act (VAWA), by President Clinton on September 13, 1994, as Title IV of the Violent Crime Control and Law Enforcement Act of 1994 (commonly referenced as the 1994 Crime Bill), increases criminal penalties and provides grants to address rape, sexual assault, domestic abuse and other gender-related violence.”
It would take four years to pass a bill to protect women from violence.
Mami was married at a time when it was improper for wives to be in the streets partying without their husbands- and the ladies weren’t taking girls’ trips in the way we do now. And my Muslim father was not about that life.
And on Year 30 of the EssenceFest, I told my husband my plans without asking for permission.
Mami has lived through some shit.
The beauty of being in NOLA during the festival is the exchange of life stories. When I shared that I was working the festival with my Mami in tow, we were blessed by the beautiful collective of Black women who were moved by our multi-generational bond. I watched proudly as the youngers celebrated Mami’s youth and vitality. The septuagenarian flex was real, indeed. She gave words of wisdom, and they swallowed her up.
Being at the EssenceFest and in New Orleans with the woman who birthed, nursed, nurtured, loved, cuddled, kissed and protected me was impactful. Watching Mami as a girl, I was in awe of her beauty, grace and fire. Where other girls touted the names of favorite celebrities they wished to look like– I wanted to look like my Mama.
On Gawd.
I would sit, mouth agape, watching this fine-ass woman work the room and my Daddy, so seeing her be on and reserved at the same time here in New Orleans– unnerved me slightly.
And since I turned 50 and lost my Father almost eight years ago, I have been on a mission to live life fully without regret on my terms. Now, the definition of what that looks like– changes daily– but I’ve definitely mastered intentionally centering myself in a way Mami didn’t have the opportunity to do. Hell, who was going to teach her?
Upon my arrival to the Big Easy, I gave Mami the rundown. She enjoyed events as I worked, but for the most part, Mami stayed by my side. She had the same access as me. I realized that permission to access, enter, do, and be were things I took for granted. I just walk into rooms. I go because my parents taught me I could do and be whatever I wanted.
I thought my Mami’s “caution” and “reservation” was due to a generational gap– NAW. She transcended despite not because of. And her perceived reservation was essentially allowing her firstborn to take her moment. She wasn’t looking for permission to stand out or even gave a damn if she belonged. My Daddy’s muse– the matriarch of our family was watching and taking pride in her fine-ass progeny working the room and people in the same way she had done decades earlier but on a smaller scale.
It was the first time she saw the fruits of her labor put into action—up close and personal. And I understand now that Mami endured, rebelled, smiled, played, and then beat the game so that I could flourish.
“And I put that on my Mama…on my hood.
