Iwe'

“You can have it back!”

“That’s no longer an option. The money is a token of appreciation for the gift you have given us.”

“So in exchange, I have to be miserable for the rest of my life? It’s not worth it!”

Chuckling, the grandmother responds, “My child, we’ve all been through it. What you are feeling is something I’ve experienced, your mother, and your great-great grandmothers. It’s a part of your destiny. You are one of the chosen ones.

At birth, we knew you were one of us. You came out, no crying, with your eyes wide open as if this place was familiar, your under arm marked like your ancestors. It is the familial patent, the sign of the storyteller, the secret keeper. You are what some would consider the djele’, the griot, the family ledger, but you are more. With you lies the beginning and the end. This is why you were named Eden. You are the family’s sacred space. “

Perplexed by what she is hearing, Eden questions, “But why now? I am still a little girl.”

Her grandmother calmly replies, “You were never just a little girl. Remember how we used to allow you to sit with the adults while the other children were chastised for listening? Just think about the times we let you come along on town voyages when the other kids were left behind. You were in training. You were permitted to attend because YOU had to know. We knew even then you were ready because you didn’t share what you heard.”

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For Eden’s 13 birthday, she was given a party like never before. The village was invited, and the elders gave her a special crown. She was adorned with jewels, draped in the finest embroidered fabric, graced with scented, rose oils, and embellished with rare charms. There were dancers and food, the kinds that were only seen at royal weddings or festivals. The final celebratory offering was her own home and land. Eden could not believe it was all for her nor did she understand. She would not live on her own until she was 18. However, this new abode would become somewhat of a sanctuary.

Though she knew of the special occasion and that this birthday was significant, she was not aware of the magnitude it entailed. The next few days would be a mark of her transition, a circumference of her distinction.

“Wake up Pretty Girl…you must go to your home today and await your patrons,” Eden’s mother calmly shook her to awaken her as she always did each morning. “They are waiting.”

Wiping her eyes puzzled, Eden was not aware of any visitors. However, she just did as told. She bathed, groomed, and walked to her new home, expecting more surprises. Getting closer to the house, she noticed a few people there. “They” were in fact waiting for her just as her mother said, but for what?

Walking into the new home, a familiar family member asked if he could enter. His demeanor was different towards her, and she was not sure if she liked it. Though a little older, he looked at her with eyes of reverence, respect and somewhat fear. This was her cousin, one she always played with as a child, but now he was different.

“Michah! Stop! Why are you acting like that! Stop playing!” Eden fusses at her cousin for what she feels is an act.

“Eden, I have something to tell you,” he blurts. “Just let me talk.”

Michah goes on to bear his soul to Eden. While he is talking, he is weeping. She had never seen her cousin cry, and she cries with him, nurturing him, but he would not be the last. There would be more. This lasted for hours. One at a time, they, young, old and in between, would come in telling their stories, cleansing their hearts, ridding their bodies of the mildew of their misgivings, their past, their hurt, their family darkness. Throughout the day, Eden had to ride the wave of emotions. Indeed there was laughter, but there was also mystery, grief, longing, surprises, and more.

One thing Eden noticed was that the people who visited her somehow seemed renewed when they left. There was almost a light around them; their skin was brighter, and they had more energy than when they arrived. She however, felt just the opposite. It was as if there was a transference of energy, and she physically had pain.

By the time Eden decided to end her day at her new home, she was exhausted. She waited until no one was left and returned to what she always knew as home. Walking to the house, her mother and grandmother grieved her new persona. Not wanting Eden to see their dismay, they muffled their cries. Each saw something familiar. Her innocence was lost, and she no longer embodied her childlike essence.

Sobbing to her mother, arms outstretched, Eden fell into her mother’s arms, “Mommy, why did they tell me? Why do I have to know? Why do they trust me? I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to know anymore.”

Caressing Eden, her mother explains, “You were born for this. They come to you to release because you don’t judge and you have the key of release. You are the manager of unresolved grief. You are present for them to heal so that the family can remain healthy, so that the residue of hurt is not passed on, and so our stories don’t die. We need to know to understand ourselves more, to understand our past, to understand our future. We also need a sacred space to liberate ourselves so that people don’t harm themselves or others, and so they don’t fall ill. You are a healer by your mere nature.”

Pulling away from her mother, Eden cries, “So is this why I was treated so special my whole life. Is this the reason I was allowed around the adults when other children couldn’t? Is this the reason I’m being given the $20,000 seasonally to endure this? This is what you all call a gift? This is not a gift? That was not a birthday celebration! That was a funeral! It is a curse, and you can have it back!”

Finishing the bath that she has prepared for Eden, her grandmother steps in from around the corner, “Eden, it will not always be like this. You will learn. Your mother had to learn. I had to learn, and so did your great-grandmother. It is why we nicknamed you Iwe’. You are a spiritual haven, the family diary. Es una iwe' negrita, la libreta pequeno, our small black notebook. It is your destiny. God and his team trust you, and yes, this is in fact a gift. You will learn how to leverage the pain. You will learn boundaries. You will learn to hold on to the good. It is not all painful. There are many more rewards in this honor than there are cons. Come…I made a bath for you. I promise you will feel better after.”

Eden followed her grandmother’s instruction, and submerged herself in the aromatic, herbal warm water. Tidal waves of grief and what felt like eternal heaviness were immediately released from her, and she felt mostly like herself again. It was known that her mother and grandmother were sacred women, and this bath proved true. There was even a heightened sense of clarity upon exiting the tub.

“Granny, what was in the water?! I feel so much better,” Eden praised her grandmother with excitement.

“I’ll tell you that and more. You will learn just as we all did, and know that though it may seem difficult now, it will get better with time. We will teach you the tools to balance, and you will do the same with your daughter. Though it feels like a hard feat now, you will reap the rewards in many ways. Not only will your immediate family be healthy mentally, physically, and spiritually, but so will your entire lineage and anyone tied it. You realign what may have been lost, and you keep the family alive. The quarterly money and land are gestures for the seeds you plant in healing, and…”

“But where does the money come from?” Eden interrupts.

As if trying to hold in her smile, her grandmother answers, “It just comes when we do the work.”