“Don’t worry, I will take a bullet for you.”
New Orleans, 2009

Bouncer is his friend and we walk into the crowded bar
Mardi Gras Indians are practicing
To my clueless eye this appears as
Many black men creating rhythms with their hands and feet and voices
In a ritual that goes back to slave days
When slave culture merged with Indian culture

One tribe is the host, the Yellow Pocohantas
They remain in the hot bar where I stand
Other tribes come in to dance and move together, some composed mostly of women, others mostly of men
Energy swirls around us
I taste the ancient culture in the ritual in this place where I’m one of few white faces
Although someone said: “I’ve never seen so many white people here before.”

Sounds make my body move

What makes this city different
Is that it still has culture
And not mass-produced and marketed culture
But authentic and rooted culture
As I move to the rhythms created in this crowded space
I realize how fortunate I am to be here
Even as an observer
Of a ritual that has existed annually for generations
That requires no sound amplification or televisions
That brings people together into a sacred space

I feel the sacredness of the space in this hot bar

We have time to fill before tribe moves to the next bar
So we return to his home, in a sketchy row of homes next to an abandoned building
But as I walk into with this group of men I’ve only met
I find a beautiful space filled with musical instruments, cathedral ceilings, steel appliances, and a stone fireplace
They immediately begin creating music
Drums and trumpet as I jingle along

We hang out creating
We hang

Arrive at the second bar which is less crowded
Same mix of sounds and dance and chants

Familiarity breeds comfort
I’ve been surprised how quickly a super seedy area with boarded up homes feels safe simply because it’s familiar

So in this new bar with its loud melodies and beats
I feel at home although I’m the only white girl
We move to the music
I’m with a group of the same four men and white trumpet boy

Dancers move surrounded by others chanting
Yet all of a sudden, the movement changes
Energy in the room changes

A heavy man backs up and
almost knocks me over
The crowd opens
As a fight erupts
Yelling
Music has fallen silent, as it was being created by those now involved in the brawl

My group of men surrounds me
I am backed into a corner
Fight is on
Unclear what will happen next
“We’re safest here, outside they may start shooting,” he says
I stand surrounded by a huddle of men
Although they don’t know me, it feels like they’re more concerned for my safety than theirs

“You’re safe. Don’t worry.  I’d take a bullet for you,” trumpet boy says
Not sure why but this white stranger feels so
reassuring since I only met him hours ago at a bar
Time passes and I walk home, surrounded by men.

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