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A Tribute to Henrietta

“The land of your slavery is now the land of my freedom.”

by Kelvin Walker

Beyond my grandparents’ generations, while I had lots of family stories, I didn’t have much family history that had been researched. For African Americans, it is sometimes difficult to trace the lineage beyond a certain point. However, about 18 or so years ago, a cousin on my mom’s side gave us a gift at a family reunion.

She was able to trace our family line back to a plantation in Mitchell Station, Alabama, to a slave with the name Henrietta. As best as we can determine, she was born in Africa, captured, and sold into slavery. From there, she worked in fields on the plantation until the time she finally realized she had been set free by the decree of President Abraham Lincoln.

Through her, two family lines were started. The Pickett line—the line through which my mother came—still has a presence in Montgomery, Alabama. And yet, Mitchell Station (though I’ve never been) still holds a special place in my heart—for the grounds of a small graveyard still contain the remains of a woman whose slave name, as best we know it, was Henrietta Payne. Here’s a glimpse into her story . . . and my history.

 

Henrietta Payne . . . that was the name

Although, not your birth name . . . it was later given

Given to a woman born African free

But later was sold into slavery

Payne was the name of the man to whom you belonged

After they carted you off to this land that was not your own

Yet, because of your tenacity

And your ability, though oppressed, to survive

The land of your slavery is now the land of my freedom

And the very soil that was foreign to you

Has now become my home

 

I often wish I could ask you

How long it took for them to break you

And what was it like to go from freedom to bondage

In a land that was not of your heritage

Was it hard for you to learn this new tongue

How long did it take you

Were you compliant or did they make you

 

Either way, you must have been brilliant to learn it

Though no credit would have been given for your intelligence

For they viewed you as dumb, ignorant, worthless, confused

In this land where they used you . . . and abused you . . . and unjustly mistreated you

Yet, because of your tenacity

And your ability, though oppressed, to survive

The land of your slavery is now the land of my freedom

And the very soil that was foreign to you

Has now become my home

 

The cotton fields of Alabama were, most likely, the grounds

Where you toiled hard on plantations from sun up to sun down

Sweating and working on someone else’s land

And just when you resigned yourself to the “Massa” owning you forever

A proclamation went into effect

And you were free again, but didn’t know it for years

You . . . just . . . kept . . . on . . . working as if you were still owned

Yet, because of your tenacity

And your ability, though oppressed, to survive

The land of your slavery is now the land of my freedom

And the very soil that was foreign to you

Has now become my home

 

I wish I could have known more about you

Like, what was your African name

And what was the year that you came

To this land where your freedom was taken

And your world was uprooted and shaken

You must have been strong

With a will of iron

For no one should have survived

Going from freedom to slave, then from slave to free

Yet, you did

Now, your grave in Mitchell Station is proof of your existence

And, because of your tenacity

And your ability, though oppressed, to survive

The land of your slavery is now the land of my freedom

And the very soil that was foreign to you

Has now become my home

 

If you were here, I would tell you

That this land of my birth, which was foreign to you

At times, can also feel foreign to me

It’s confusing and disturbing how the land of the free

Can be full of injustice, and prejudice, and poverty, racism, and hatred

The truth is, my homeland can be tough for me

Although I’ve always known freedom, never a slave to be

 

So I can only imagine what it was like for you

And all that you had to go through

With no hope of being free simply to be you, because

For years, you were not free . . . you were owned

Yet, because of your tenacity

And your ability, though oppressed, to survive

The land of your slavery is now the land of my freedom

And the very soil that was foreign to you

Has now become my home

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