Each week The Extraordinary Times catches up with friends in the local historical and cultural scene. This week’s guest is Omopé Carter Daboiku, affectionately known as Mama O. After some 30 years in Cincinnati, Omopé moved to Dayton in 2012. Originally from Ironton in southern Ohio, she identifies as an Appalachian of mixed ancestry. Trained as a cultural geographer, Mama O is a world-traveled performance and textile artist, educator, and published writer.
After getting her “corona-legs”, Omopé’s work shifted from academic tutoring and public performance to creating online content, training as a WYSO radio community producer, restoring agriculture as an African American heritage craft, supporting access to healthy food, and inspiring cross-town civic engagement through education and the arts. * How have you and your family been keeping during the pandemic? On March 19, when Gov. DeWine shut down the state, I knew instinctively that public performances would be cancelled. The senior building where I lived placed us on self-quarantine, removed curtains and all lobby furniture including the piano bench. At first, it was like playing hooky from school; then came the disorientation as everything went into limbo. I checked in on my children and reminded them of our commitment to good health; then, I agreed to stay at home. Despite the lockdown, I was able to facilitate a fresh produce drop at my senior housing building, sponsored by Dayton non-profit Access2Excess; they came in March and April Easter weekend, which was a boon to those without family or transportation. I’m old enough now to have some “real” stories. I was in the initial Sabin vaccine during the polio epidemic of the 1950’s, survived both “German” measles (which compromised my eyes) and the 1968 H3N2 flu epidemic; I was terribly ill and remember wondering if I would die. Thankfully, despite some reckless behaviors in my twenties, I missed AIDS/HIV. So, I understand the severity of the situation and I wear a mask, and even gloves when necessary, as do my children. We are descendants of Medicine People and believe we are part of the Divine and stewards of the Earth; we strive daily to be in alignment with our purpose, which means doing what we need to remain healthy. * How can the act of storytelling help communities through hard times like these? Stories about hardship and survival can shore us up in times like these; I’ve told my children of my escapes from disease as my parents told me of struggles in their era. My mother was born in 1932 in the middle of the Great Depression, ten years after her closest sibling. My father survived a diphtheria epidemic in 1944, but lost his infant brother. As Memorial Day approaches, I have fond memories of my maternal grandfather recounting how his inappropriate social behavior in segregated Georgia led to his family walking off their land and migrating North to save his life. Stories about victory over struggle help keep life in perspective and remind us that humans are designed to be resilient. * How did growing up in Ironton shape you? Ironton was a major economic force in the 19th century, providing pig iron for the military and various industries. The founding father, John Campbell was an abolitionist Presbyterian and the famous Underground Railroad conductor John Rankin died in Ironton while living with his daughter; formerly owned by Nannie Kelly Wright, the only female ironmaster and the 2nd wealthiest woman in the world in her day, that house is the Lawrence County Museum & Historical Society. My little river town also has claims on holding the longest, continually running Memorial Day Parade in the country; there was a televised shortened version this year despite COVID-19. We are also one of the founding cities of the National Football League. However, because Ironton is a small city, we have only 2 high schools – one public, the other parochial. For as small as Ironton is, it actually has two Catholic communities – one Irish, the other German; and a plethora of Protestant churches of all dominations. So, we pray at all public gatherings, including sports events. I could never figure out how the Almighty was expected to pick the winner of any competitive sport! So, my little town had no internal competition; we saved up our angst to beat the opposing team – whoever that was. When I was young, all the businesses downtown were locally owned. There were no apartments; everyone lived in a house even if they did not own it. There were no segregated facilities to my knowledge and no one, regardless of the color of their skin, could try a hat on without a hair net. Schools were open to all and it was common to have the same teachers that your parents had had, or they had been your parents’ classmates. The “south end” of town had more people of color, but there were also many Caucasians that lived and socialized in our neighborhood. Many of my friends were “mixed” as the kids say today. I was also lucky to live close to blood relatives and to see the relationships between my parents and their parents. My dad kept his father’s car running and grass cut; we stopped by my mother’s mother’s house every Sunday where there was always stewed prunes. A great aunt lived one door away, and my maternal grandfather came to live with us when my grandmother died. I was surrounded by stories and elder wisdom. My strong intellect got me to college, but I felt totally unprepared on the campus of The Ohio State University; I used to quip that my dorm Lincoln Tower had more people than my town. * What is UACC and how did you first become involved? The Urban Appalachian Community Coalition is the phoenix organization of the former Urban Appalachian Council, which was formed in 1972 to address the influx of migrants from the Appalachian region. I came to Cincinnati in 1972, the step migration way; I lived with my mother’s sister in Kennedy Heights, and commuted daily by bus to the University of Cincinnati where I worked at the library. Someone to whom I had complained about being homesick told me about this festival at Coney Island, out east on Kellogg Ave. I was familiar with Coney because my high school senior trip had been to that historic amusement park. I was fascinated by the music, craft artisans and the variety of food. Interestingly, there was also a Cherokee woman there making fry bread who resembled my Great-Aunt Ellen so strongly that it startled me. I eventually found my way to the UAC table where there was a map of Appalachia there with adhesive dots to place on the glass front to indicate “home.” I proudly placed my dot on Ironton, which is designated as central-northern Appalachia by the ARC (Appalachian Regional Commission). * Who was Carter G Woodson and how has he inspired you? Carter Godwin Woodson was a remarkable human being. Born in Buckingham County, VA he left coal mining and at 17 migrated to Huntington, WV, under the care of maternal uncles. With only a rudimentary education, he enrolled in Frederick Douglass High School in Huntington and completed the curriculum for a diploma of graduation in only three years. From there, he enrolled in Berea (Kentucky) College when it was still an integrated school for Appalachian youth. With a degree from Berea he returned to Huntington and became the principal at Douglass HS until departing for the University of Chicago where he earned an MA in history. His path led him to Harvard where he became the third African American male to receive their PhD. Now as Dr. CG Woodson, he founded the Association for the Study of Negro Life and History, and declared that the history of African Americans was more than their sojourn in the Americas, and that Black History was World History and needed to be respected as such. To wit, he established Negro History Week which has become Black History Month. ASNLH became the Association for the Study of African American Life & History, and remains the steward of his legacy. ASALH determines the theme for BHM based on current socio-political issues, and has worked diligently with the National Park Service to restore Dr. Woodson’s home and Associated Publishers business in Anacostia, Washington, DC, as a public museum and national monument. My dad’s father Willie H Carter called him “Cousin Godwin”, which is why I chose life membership -- as an act of philanthropy. * Any projects on the go? Facing my own mortality, I checked my bucket list to see what was still unresolved and realized that I had not passed on the Earth wisdom I was given as a child; it was my responsibility to teach about food, nutrition and farming. So, I’m working as an urban agriculture advocate to give youth and adults more career options, and make healthy affordable food accessible to urban dwellers in Montgomery County. This summer, I’ve used my angst to support urban grow programs, introduced children (and teachers) to the process of pollination and to the taste of freshly harvested cucumbers and tomatoes. That’s been a joy! I had to come to grips with COVID anger before I could accept that the village square was going digital; if I wished to remain relevant, I would have to adapt. As I exhaled and watched my 91-year-old father preach multiple times on Facebook Live, I decided to step up! After that big exhale, phone calls and email reflected my shift. In April, I did an online poetry reading for the Writers Conference of Northern Appalachia (WCoNA), then was asked by Dr Cathrine Roma of the World House Choir (Yellow Springs, OH) to develop a webinar on “African American Songs of Resilience.” Ironically, these were the same songs I was singing to calm myself in the face of the pandemic; it was very well received. The Ohio Art Council featured me on their “Traditional Tuesdays” on Instagram in May; and, in June, our Beloved Community --the Urban Appalachian Community Coalition-- designed and conducted a multi-speaker presentation for the Cincinnati-Hamilton Co Public Library on the organization’s founding and its impact in the Price Hill neighborhood; the digital audience was larger than anticipated and very appreciative. Sierra Leone, a well-respected Dayton poet, asked me to assist with a Summer Solstice event she called: Our Praise is Our Protest held on the banks of the Mad River, literally gathering “down by the riverside” to unload our burdens and seek balance in turbulent times. The event was so successful that we will continue to hold astronomically scheduled events as the year goes along. Stepping up to organizing city-wide events in outdoor venues is a new and exciting challenge. We’re now planning “Pandemic Prescriptions: Poems, Prose & Praise” for Autumn Equinox with a narrative that examines what we individually and collectively have gleaned from the intentions we planted in Summer. This week, I’m finishing up the plans for a multi-performance for Dayton Metro Library centered around global folklore and how immigrants add to the cultural fabric of the US; the program will post this September in four different weekly segments honoring Friendship Week and the naturalization of those seeking US citizenship. Being asked is an honor and a blessing; it rectifies performances cancelled during Quarantine which I assumed I would not be able to recover, plus it highlights storytelling as a way to develop cross-cultural appreciation. I’m also involved in a trans-Atlantic project through the Ohio State University’s folklore department. The managing folklorist, Rachel Hopkins, is pairing me with a “mixed ancestry” artist like myself who works in narrative textile creation; she describes herself as a Brit-Persian. I look forward to learning from the experience. It’s amazing how the Universe will meet your needs if you adjust your perspective just one degree and how much more life there is at 68.
2 Comments
Michael Maloney
9/8/2020 11:57:30 am
Suoer informative and inspiring.
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Matthew Smith
9/8/2020 01:44:15 pm
Thanks Mike, glad you enjoyed & hope you are keeping well!
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AuthorMatthew Smith, PhD (History). Public Programs at Miami University Regionals. Historian of Appalachia, the Ohio Valley, & the early American republic. Archives
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