I’m cold. Freezing in fact. I’m on a flight from Los Angeles to New Orleans and Delta insists on keeping the cabin temp at a balmy 58°. But my teeth-chattering, frigid plane flight will be soon worth the while, as I’m headed to the Essence Cultural Festival with my older sister, my only sibling, Tracie.
Tracie and I have a pretty big age gap and are at opposite ends of our motherhood journey. She had kids in her 20’s, who are now out of the house and in college, and I had kids in my thirties, who are now a toddler and a newborn. But the one thing we share in common, is mothering our mother.
Mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s not long ago, and her condition has rocked our relationship. We went from calling her for advice and asking for money, to helping her dress in the mornings and making sure she ate. Our matriarch, our guru, became our child. We’re the grownups now, and it’s a type of heartbreak I never imagined. And with so much of my sister and I’s dynamic being surrounded by mom and her care, it dawned on me that caring for ourselves and our relationship with each other would need to become a priority, if we were ever going to make it through this difficult transition.
ENTER ESSENCE FEST!
A cultural event celebrating black women and girls, The Essence Fest has been on my bucket list for years. So when I was gifted VIP tickets after attending the Black Women in Hollywood Awards, I jumped at the chance to go and reconnect with my sister.
Friday.
After checking into the IHG Voco St. James located on the border of the French Quarter and the Business district, we quickly changed and headed to The Four Seasons Hotel, which held a shopping event featuring Black designers. There I met Christopher John Rogers, whose work I’ve been a fan of for many years. The CFDA winner and Baton Rouge native was famously launched into the stratosphere of cool, after being worn by First Lady Michelle Obama. Hisdesigns are vibrant, bold, bright and unapologetic; everything a black woman should be. Next I met Rebecca Henry, founder of the Mother-Daughter owned brand House Aama. Debuting in Vogue, the hyper-feminine fashion line pairs antebellum era prints with modern day silhouettes. The designers seek to reclaim the Black-American relationship with “cotton”, choosing to source theraw materials from black farmers and textile makers. The result is a collection that is delicate, bespoke, ethereal and celebrates a soft life.
Coincidentally, my mother’s name is also Rebecca, and we spoke about the significance of dutiful, intelligent yet oft uncelebrated Rebeccas in history, specifically, Rebecca, Isaac’s wife, from The Bible. We could’ve stayed for hours chatting with all of the folks in the Black Designer showcase, but it was time to head back and get ready for the night.
On the way out we bumped into a new friend, Nia Renée Hill. Nia is a food journalist and wine connoisseur, with a quickly growing fanbase that centers around all things Black, in the food and wine world. She’s in town to interview the James Beard Award-winning Chef Nina Compton, for her food series “At the Table”. We chatted and caught each other up on who we’d seen and what was on our agendas for the weekend. And as I stood there drinking champagne, and looked around at the sea of black celebrities taking over this Five Star hotel bar, all I could think was “Mom would love this.”
After a wardrobe change we headed to dinner at Rizzuto, a New Orleans influenced steakhouse with classics like the bleu cheese wedge salad and tomahawk steak, mixed with Big Easy favorites like cheese grits and catfish. The food was to die for, and I’d highly recommend anyone coming to NOLA pack stretchy pants.
Now it was on to The Superdome for The Essence Fest main stage events, which kicked off with a conversation with First Lady Michelle Obama, moderated by Keke Palmer. Mrs. Obama spoke about a range of topics from political activism, to home and family. But what I was most taken by is her humility and approachability, despite her existence in such rarefied air. She said that it’s easy for someone in her position to encourage others to live in their purpose. But the ability to live in that purpose is only achievable with a certain level of privilege. If one’s basic needs aren’t met; if grocery prices and childcare costs are keeping you up at night, it’s almost impossible to then step away from the immediacy of paying rent to then “Dream Big”. Chasing one’s dreams is a luxury that many girls and women of color aren’t afforded. And as a person who’s been given a great deal of access and influence, she takes it very seriously to keep herself connected to the concerns of everyday women, trying to put food on the table and keep their kids in clean clothes.
This makes me think of my mother, who came from very humble beginnings. Growing up as 1 of 9 children in a 3-room house, her childhood in Opa-Locka, Florida was framed by poverty, oppression and ingenuity. Between raising children and keeping her home, my grandmother did odd jobs and cleanedhouses to make ends meet. My mom tells stories of growing up and only being able to afford meat on Sundays. She wore hand-me-downs and had holes in her shoes, and made internal vows to do whatever it took to provide more for her own children some day. And she did just that. As a tween I had store cards in my name and wore head to toe GAP and Abercrombie. We took trips to the Caribbean for Spring Break, learned second languages, and got cars for our birthdays. We never wanted for anything. And while I never experienced the financial hardships that my mom and aunts did, their leadership and lessons stayed with me.
Next to the stage, was a procession of incredible female performers; Big Latto, Kehlani and Cardi B. Each different but all sharing a similar magnetism and charisma that seemingly only exists in women of color. The predominantly female crowd went wild; singing along, fanning their faces, and feeling seen.
Saturday.
I swear I haven’t slept a full 8 hours in four years. Between two pregnancies and two beautiful but exhausting post partums, this morning I sleep in and my sister lets me.
Once, we’re dressed, we meet for brunch with my oldest childhood friend, Natalie. She’s in town with her Aunt Nikki, who because of their proximity in age, is more like a big sister. Natalie knows my family more than any other friend, having grown up together and later working for my mom at the Department of Labor. After some pleasantries and a quick catch up, she asks, “How’s your mom?”
For anyone else, this would be an innocuous question; but for me, it cuts like a knife. I decide to answer honestly, “She’s good. It’s tough. Somedays she’s close to her old self, other days she forgets I’m married, forgets I have children, forgets that her mother and father are dead.” I feel like i’m mourning someone who’s still alive.
Natalie says that for her, there’s a weight of holding three versions of herself at the same time; a mother who’s an authority and the head of her household, a daughter who finds herself in a caregiving position to her mother, and a Self, that exists entirely independently of anyone else. Maintaining all of those realities is exhausting and rewarding, and hearing my oldest friend speak to an experience so similar to mine brings me comfort.We talk more; about the kids, about our careers and finally decide to head over to the convention center for Day 2 of The Fest.
Each year Essence sees roughly half a million people attending events over the course of one weekend in July. All around the Convention Center there are empowerment seminars and talkbacks with experts in every field. Whether you’re interested in learning how to start your own business, wanting to break into the podcast world, or learn the art of art collecting, there’s something for everyone. In the Grand Hall, big brands like Target, Disney and Amazon have full scale installations of their stores with raffles and giveaways, and along the outer corridors smaller vendors introduce their products and services to the masses. It’s beautiful, it’s overwhelming and it’s all Black.
Saturday evening we forgo a formal dinner to instead bop around town. We swing by The Ritz Carlton, where live jazz plays in the lounge and an elderly couple ballroom dance. The room is dark, the drinks are strong, and the burger is perfection. Next we stop by Acme House where grilled oysters with Red beans and rice are on the menu. The place is crowded, unassuming and delicious. Finally we make our way to Frenchman’s street, where every single bar is bursting at the seams with classic New Orleans Second Line music, which sounds to me like if Big Brass Jazz and Marching Band music had a baby with a dash of Funk for good measure. The music spills into the street and a block party forms in front of Willie’s Chicken Shack. Tracie and I dance, we grin, we sweat, and our cares melt away. In this moment we are sisters and friends, we’re mothers and daughters, we’re old and young. We’re alive.
Sunday.
I can’t sleep. The Sunday Scaries haunt my dreams and i’m up with the sun. After a harried repack and check-out, we head to the convention center for one last hurrah. Rushing through Beautycon, we snag samples and freebies from Camille Rose, Shea Moisture and Dove. My sister has always been a self-care queen, with a variety of lotions and balms stuffed in her purse, ever since we were kids. She taught me how to line my lips like Janet Jackson and remove leg hair with Nair. She was the OG It-girl in my life and I’d never have pursued acting if it weren’t for her encouragement towards the arts; nicknaming me “Little Magic” after my affinity for showmanship.
But now it’s time to go home. We hop in an uber, head to an airport named after Louis Armstrong, share one last meal of shrimp and grits, and go our separate ways. Next time I see her, mom will be there again, and the reunion will be both bitter and sweet. But for now I hold onto the beauty of Essence Fest, the jazz still ringing in my ears and the warmth of having spent time with my sister.
