Personal Narrative: Subcultures Of African Americans

s an anthropologist, I have studied many races, ethnic groups, and cultures, even subcultures of the American Africans of North America. There are many subcultures in their ethnicity and the one that stuck out to me over the years is their ritualistic holiday. Their holy day, is not like any other days I have come across. It’s every week and takes up more than twelve hours of the day.
My morning began at six o’clock, when I was, in my opinion, rudely awaken by “Cooling Water” being blasted throughout the house. The matriarch of the family, Miss Hattie was up cooking artery clogging food. The smell of pork roamed through the house. To my understanding of their holy text, followers are not supposed to eat pig, but like most followers of religion, they pick and choose what rules fit their lives best. I did not understand the passive aggressiveness that came from Miss Hattie Johnson, why couldn’t she just wake the family up instead of blaring gospel music throughout the house, rudely waking everyone up three hours before service started.
As Miss Hattie cooked, her grandchildren got ready. She has three grandchildren staying with her over the summer, Calvin,
Mia and Willow. Calvin, who is fifteen stays in asleep, like the music does not even phase him, but Mia and Jamari, roughly ages six and nine are up with the chickens along with their grandmother. It takes Calvin another hour to get, but he managed to wake up right when the breakfast is finish. You can tell he is not a neophyte to these mornings.
At the table an assortment of food was laid out like a buffet, but before diving into the array of food, they all joined hands and began mumbling to their food. I was caught off guard by them speaking to their food, and in unison they finished with a singular word in agreeance with each other. After breakfast they all went and got dressed for their service. Their aesthetic was very Liberace. Mia and Taylor wore poufy dresses that extended longer than their bodies. Calvin was dressed quite dapper and Miss Hattie had on a hat which resembled a hybrid between the Kentucky Derby hat and a fruit basket, and she wore one solid color, pearly white.
Once we arrived, a building that resembles a small castle was ahead of me. I wonder what magic happened in this place. The windows were colored glass and there was a huge bell that rang loudly once nine o’clock struck. Inside, there were more overdressed people. Women with white gloves greeted up at the door and told us where to sit. The people in the front of the holy temple were looking fairly regal and like they were looking down on everyone. A man in a robe began speaking on some man from a long time ago who was murdered by some Italians and talking about how he is coming back from the dead to rescue the world.
The man in the robe continued to speak for about an hour, and then out of nowhere the rhythm of the music changed and it was upbeat.
The man in the robe sounded like he was singing and talking at the same time, and the people were moving around like they were possessed. It was a freak phenomenon. People, even Miss Hattie, were speaking a language that sounded like Spanish, but not quite Spanish. Then people were falling out on the floor, and the man in the robe seems to be satisfied. He even went around putting olive oil on people heads, which he said was “holy and sacred”. To end the craziness that was going on, the ladies in white gloves passed out plates and bowels where people would put money in them. The money is said to go to the man killed by Italians and that if one did not donate that they are robbing
him.
After the service, Miss Hattie spoke with the rest of the people for about an hour. Her grandchildren were highly annoyed, which made me annoyed as well. She was gossiping and laughing with her friends and the grandkids every ten minutes asked if they could leave. For the most part of the service, the children were sleeping, even through the loud commotion of the drum beating and yelling from the man in the robe, and the passing out everywhere. We finally leave around five o’clock. Everyone was hunger and ready for sleep, but sleep was farfetched. Miss Hattie invited everyone from the holy service to her house to eat dinner, which she prepared the night before. It seemed as if their day of worship would never end. Everyone spoke to the food like Miss Hattie and her grandchildren did this morning, and the festivities continued until midnight.
In conclusion the America Africans take religion seriously and it is an all-day family affair. What happens in those buildings is somewhat magical. The people speak a language that is unknown and get possessed by supernatural beings. It is like they were having an outer body experience, all in the name of the Jewish man murdered by Italians, long time ago. Their music is very spiritual, mixed with sounds from American and African cultures infused into one genre.
Love and their higher being is the epicenter of most of their songs and how he is coming back for revenge and praise. Their weekly holiday is a sacred and interesting one to observe.