Toilings of the mind–Love Me Still

Your Epidemiologist from Zambia checking in. I’m an empath, so I feel all parts of this world. Sometimes this is healthy, and other times.. it’s just a distraction from getting me where I need to be. When I was 23, a former colleague said to me “Girl, you got favor over your life”. I’d heard of favor before but I’d never put favor and myself in the same sentence, as I thought I hadn’t lived or seen enough to have favor. She proceeded to explain the favor she saw based on historical steps of me. Funny how strangers can see things clearer than you can see about your own life. And I had a realization… Favor has been over me this whole time. What does that favor look like? Do you have a moment? Great! I knew you would. Slight warning, I’m probably about to tell a series of unrelated stories so engage me for a second.

I’m born of a family who has made great sacrifices to get me where I am. REAL sacrifices. Like we won’t pay a couple of bills this month just to have money to put gas in the car to take Kenya to a summer program type of sacrifices.. or we will catch Miss Caldwell’s cotton truck from 4am-12pm to go and chop cotton to bring in additional money type of sacrifices (I’m from Mississippi and yes when I was growing up my parents chopped cotton).

I’ve never had the opportunity of being ‘caped in privilege’. I’m Black, I’m a Woman, I’m from Mississippi, and I’m the first to go to college.. twice… where’s the privilege in that? My mother gave me books that she couldn’t read and my father worked 5 jobs and saw me right before I closed my eyes to sleep at night. But I don’t lead with these stories, it’s not my job to greet you with the poor black woman’s tale.. we are EVERYWHERE. Just last night I had to mentally check myself from caping someone in privilege. One of my prized mentors here in Zambia is a Black woman from the U.S… well educated sista at the decision making table of one of the most reputable institutions in the country. Some of the stories she tell and her current outlook, I automatically cape her in privilege and wealth. She was different.. she doesn’t know my struggles.. she didn’t grow up how I grew up… is what I sometimes thought. Last night she randomly shared stories about one of her parents being a drug addict and that being the inspiration for her high achievements. Thank you God for checking me. I was doing to her what people do to me.

Most people just assume that I come from a background of wealth. I’ve never said nor implied these things, but from what I’m told it’s hard to imagine a black woman from Mississippi with such achievements.. she had have come from money. Can poverty and intelligence not set up shop in the same body?   I try my best to refute wealthy beliefs by use of colloquial hood terminology, unintentionally showing my full lack of a sense of geography (They didn’t teach geography in my high school.. perils of being educated in Mississippi), and using Ebonics in professional settings… I’m fluent in it and I’ve included it in my Reparations Package.

Someone wrote me recently and said “You’re super lucky and privileged to have had the experiences you’ve had and do the things you’ve done” Lucky?? I thought. I proceeded to open my pocketbook and show them the receipts of God’s favor. This week alone, I’ve received emails from students at Ivy League institutions asking me for advice in formalizing their next career steps, communication from doctoral students asking for assistance, and on an ongoing basis I mentor Masters degree students from various colleges. I laughed myself into tears with a friend the other night because people often see the glorified output of the struggle but never see the actual struggle that went into the glorified output. No offense to anyone who reaches out to me.. I thrive off of you. But I wonder if people would still see me as an inspiration if they knew that yesterday, I cried at work. No worries, crying is healthy, I liken it to taking your soul to the laundromat.. or would my value diminish if I decided to pursue other interests in life like working at a coffee shop. I’m super basic I know.

One of my best friends is even more basic than myself. She’s a “born into struggle black woman” too. First generation college student like myself, just trying to figure this path out on her own. As we often are encircled with acquaintances that talk about trips to the Berlin wall or a weekend in the Seychelles, she and I meet back up with each other in hilarity. Because while our friends are concerned with whether their plane tickets are booked, we are concerned with how to get more people who look like us in spaces like us. I must mention, that my friend has 2 Masters degrees and she’s my “hood rich hero”. We joke about our dream jobs.. she wants to be a bartender and I want to be a tea barista.

As an Epidemiologist, I’m an ink spot on a napkin… trying to get other ink spots to have the chance to make their mark on this napkin (I hope you’ve understood my point). I have been loved and rejected by this profession. I have been celebrated and neglected by this profession. But I wonder, am I doing US a disservice.. black folk.. people of color …in my efforts of inviting us to a torn napkin too dirty to even create a space for our ink spots? Or am I encouraging us to pull up a seat to a broken table when we should be out building our own tables?

I won’t be your Epidemiologist trekking across Zambia forever, my request is that you love me still. This is not a goodbye.. I’m just getting started. This is however a support me in my growth. Whether it’s tracking infectious diseases across diverse populations or sipping favor while I’m pouring tea for the next “hood rich hero” at a tea shop. Love me still.