Witness of an Pan-African legend

"There is no passion to be found playing small- in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living"

Nelson Mandela

As I think back, there may have been a few times that I caught an interview with Dr. Thompson on Like It Is, a Sunday morning news perspective hosted by the late Gil Noble.  I have to give thanks that my parents had the good sense to instill that kind of social value into our lives.  

As I sat in the back of the church waiting to hear more about this man that I've heard some refer to as "Baba Dudley", I spotted the back of the head of the man that I truly had driven the 30 plus miles to see and hear, Dr. Leonard Jeffries.  Many may know the colourful past of Dr. Jeffries by the news stories from the early 90's in NYC, and truth be told, much of my knowledge of him stemmed from that same such coverage.

Thompson in RAF uniform

But as one who understands what a lifelong student can be, I have always jumped at the opportunity, though few and far between oft times, to hear scholars that I've long admired speak and give the impromptu lecture that one always hears about but rarely finds oneself in the presence of.  That Dr. Jeffries and Dr. Thompson had such a close relationship, as I was beginning to learn this day, I was sure that this Sunday would be such a day.

But my first recollection from the afternoon's service was that of the white minister whose thick Jamaican accent made me look up from behind my program.  No matter how much I know that whites too are born and raised in the Caribbean and other strong African enclaves, it always tickles me a little to hear the thick native accents.  Especially when it comes to Jamaica, as there were very few whites amongst my family's circle of peers but a small smattering in their stories.

After "Yardie Preach", there was a short opening drum cal performed by Master drummer Eric Bli Bi Gore, who I was told hails from Cote d"Ivoire.  As it is I love drum sound, especially African drumming from throughout the land, I was pleasantly surprised.  There really is nothing like the strong rhythmic treatise that is offered by the drums that resonate my true and full history as an African man despondent in the west.  It is the call home that I desperately need to hear as often as I can.  And the man was quite skillful to boot.

After libations were poured and after a short time travel trip highlighted by a musical tribute from the Jamaica Folk Revue and Tallawah Mento Band, replete with full traditional national dress, the story of Baba Dudley, the story of a man that I had not known, began to reveal itself.  But this is not intended to be a history lesson.  Like I had to, one has to take the time to learn fully the man's work and accomplishments.  What I went for was to learn of the man.

Baba Dudley and Sister Cecile

And I got just that opportunity while listening to his wife of some 50 odd years, Cecile.  As I had not known the Ambassador personally, I felt apprehensive about introducing myself to Sister Cecile, as she was referred to, at the time.  I choose instead to relay my words of appreciation to her here.  And I do so as a man who longs to find the kind of supportive wife, friend, partner and confidant that Sister Cecile revealed herself to be.  Not so much by the words she used, as even my words here can seem as sincere or not as you the reader chooses.  But instead more by the emotion that neither I, nor anyone else who was uninitiated in their personal life, could clearly see and feel.

I felt for her in that moment as I listened, much as I feel I would have felt for my grandmother at the passing of her husband, my grandfather, but was too young to understand at the time.  It seemed in that space to have been the kind of loving relationship that everyone prays rubs off on them somewhat.  Of course there must have been those moments that no fairy tale romance tale offers as truth, but they most surely were few at best.

Even now as I sit thinking several days later, it still stirs in me those feelings of longing for just such a love.  When next I have an opportunity to meet her, I will surely convey those sentiments.  Popular media doesn't teach you often that such relationships are being built in African households and their story is proof positive that African fairy tales are as real, and vibrant, as anything Disney can muster to put on the big screen.

I plan on writing separately about what I learned from Dr. Jeffries on this Sunday.  The knowledge delivered from him about Baba Dudley was extraordinary as well and certainly deserves its own standing.  But I will say here that the way he spoke of and to Sister Cecile was as endearing and heartfelt as anything a brother would say of his sister, a son of his mother.  

One could clearly see that the bonds that had been built amongst these two families was to live on throughout any storm.  That too was a lesson the west and her colonial consorts have deprived us African children of.  

Whatsoever else I learned and took away from the memorial is for me to savor alone.  In the same way I look forward to sharing a meal with that special someone, to for however briefly, be the only ears privy to the celestial delights of their offering.  


I do give thanks for the life and light of a man that obviously touched so many and left such a positive impact. And for having had the chance to glean some of that energy from those that knew him best.  The Ancestors have received another giant of a man amongst them.

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