The Civil Rights and Black Power movements. Marches, sit-ins and era-defining court decisions. Afros and dashikis, raised fists in black gloves. In movies and music, magazines and newspapers, the mid-1950s to late ‘60s saw the consciousness of African-ancestored peoples take a steep rise. From that potent mix emerged a secular festival that captured the need for a ritual of principles to match the sentiment of the times.
Habari Gani? What’s the news? It’s Kwanzaa. Created in 1966 by African-American militant and university scholar Dr. Maulana Karenga, this secular holiday acknowledges the harvest rituals of African people as a metaphor for the cultural, political and artistic bounty bequeathed to us by our ancestors. Without singling out a particular religion or heroic figure, Kwanzaa, a Kiswahili word meaning “first fruit,” gives us room to honor and practice collective nation-building.
From December 26 through January 1, we gather around the Kwanzaa table and explore seven principles, called the Nguzo Saba, one for each day. They are Umoja/Unity, Kujichagulia/Self-Determination, Ujima/Collective Work & Responsibility, Ujamaa/Cooperative Economics, Nia/Purpose, Kuumba/Creativity and Imani/Faith.
Self-determination is my favorite — to name, define and speak for ourselves and not to be named, defined or spoken for by others. The power of that sentiment has served as the ground under my feet, the steel in my spine, and the light illuminating my steps through life.
The woven table mat, Mkeka, represents the foundation upon which the principles and the Kwanzaa symbols rest. A Kinara, or candle holder, uplifts one black, three green and three red candles, the Mishumaa Saba. Ears of harvest corn, or Muhindi, represent the children in the family. During the ceremony, a Unity Cup of water or juice, Kikombe cha Umoja, is passed.
Also on the table are the Mazao, fresh fruit and vegetables, that represent the harvest. Around the table are the gifts, Zawadii, to be shared and which are preferably handmade.
I remember the first Kwanzaa I held in my home. I had a bag of frozen corn, a kitchen placemat, a water glass for the Unity Cup, and mismatched candles, some previously burned. But my sister–friend Aissatou was determined to help me start a family Kwanzaa practice right where I was, without stressing about having everything perfect. After that, I joined the Harlem Kwanzaa roster, each of us taking turns hosting a night. Since then, I have held annual Kwanzaas ranging from scores of people representing several generations in one room to just two: my daughter and me.
We pour libation to call our personal and race ancestors into the space. We light the appropriate candle and talk about how we have honored the principle in the past year and our plans to practice it in the coming year. We perform skits and play games to bring the ceremony to life and light up the room with joy. We share foods from the many different lands in the diaspora where African people reside.
It is ritual, after all, that brings us together and binds us one to another. In the cipher of ceremony, we join those who have gone before and those yet to be born. We speak our love for ourselves and our people. We demonstrate our trust in life and faith in our communal future.
Harambe!
