sejah farm - part 1

“so, what do you need us to do?”

for this interview, we came ready to work. it was the day before Ag Fair + the Browns did not have time to stop their harvest + packaging for no ideal chitchat. “so anytime you wanna start, you can,” Dale Brown said to us almost as soon as we had parked + hopped out of our rented Audi. “okay!” we fell into step with Farmer Brown, me quickly throwing my locs up into a scarf; Farmer Brown gave off that same “time is money” vibe that Errol did. + this being prep day for the beloved Ag Fair, i was not about to be the one who held up the process. i slid my recorder into my pocket, mic side up + awaited further instructions.

“we can work + talk […] just keep talking!” he said as he walked away from us, lifting this, moving that, directing volunteers, busy but generous in his time + attention. he introduced us to his wife, Yvette, who was deeply engrossed in her morning tasks until: “we’re member of SAAFON,” shared Dale. “ohh!!” Ashley exclaimed excitedly, “i’m a member of National Black Food + Justice Alliance.” “oh!” that perked Yvette’s ears + she smiled knowingly. Dale smiled, “now you got her attention.”

Yvette Brown is one of the founding members of SAAFON, Southeastern African American Farmers’ Organic Network, a collective of small + heritage Black farmers committed to culturally relevant, ancestrally guided, + ecologically sustainable agricultural – based living. SAAFON is a member organization of NBFJA. our world is a village, no?

Dale + Yvette Brown are committed with a capital C to this work. they’ve been stewards of the land Sejah sits on since 1998. “Sejah” is Hebrew, derived from the word Maaseyah / Maaseiah. this is the name of the Browns’ youngest daughter who was born the same year they acquired the property. it means “the work of Jehovah” or “the work of god”. so “Sejah” means “of Jehovah” (the “j” was added to be kind to the english-speaking tongue). both Yvette + Dale studied at university: Yvette studied agriculture + Dale accounting + business. they had always wanted to do something for the island, something helpful, something “different”. once they had a family, they started asking themselves the simple question what if? with Yvette already having a robust background in agriculture, added with a bit of research trial + error, they were able to grow Sejah into something quite special. the Farmers Brown, as they are affectionally referred to by those who know them + their work, are caretakers of fifteen acres of land: eleven for grazing for goats + sheep, three for growing their vegetable crops + 3/4 acres for poultry.

“are you Crucian,” i asked Dale, “like, from the island?” in St. Croix a good deal of folks are born on another island + have migrated. like Tahirah’s parents who are from Grenada + St. Lucia. “we are Crucians by being part of the diaspora… but we were born in Antigua.” i liked his response: “we are Crucians by being part of the diaspora.” back home my friends + i have spent years pondering over the displacement we feel, being African American. how can you be African if you don’t know anything about Africa? how can you identify as American when it’s attached to such violence, whiteness + pain, even within your own body? but whenever i’ve traveled to the Caribbean i get the same message, the one Farmer Brown gifted us: “we family + you are here with us now.”

Farmer Brown went on to say that the Virgin Islands are viewed as a “land of opportunity” being the “United States of America in the Caribbean”. the opportunity Dale + Yvette’s parents sought at the time of their pilgrimage was sugar cane. he went on to tell us a bit about the history of St. Croix’s offer of opportunity: how vibrant the sugar cane industry was until about 1920, after the VI was purchased by the US; how “poverty was just rampant among the African population”; how government entities tried for decades to make sugar cane the backbone of the VI economy. “so if you look. look, look, look, look,” Farmer Brown pointed far off into the distance, the shadow of a building stark against the gray morning, “if you look there, the last sugar factory.” half of the factory was destroyed by the 2019 hurricanes, but still, the broken body loomed, a reminder of how delicate opportunity can be. + so, in the late 60s, the Crucian economy shifted focus from agriculture + sugar cane, to tourism, still the island’s main source of economic security. the same is true across many islands; i immediately thought back to my last trip to Jamaica, where i spent some time at an all-inclusive resort. being Black + loc’d, my companion + i drew many eyes of the Jamaican staff + we had rich conversations with folks on how having a job at such a resort was considered high tier: “it’s all tourism here.” + tourism has been the death of the agrarian society.

“what you are here to ask about today is how much food affect mental health. religion. a society. it, it has everything to do. everything.” there is plenty of access to fast foods, processed foods, quick foods, but Dale went on to say “there is food that is actually a belly-full […] that sustains you.” there it was again, the true meaning of food: sustenance.

99% of St. Croix’s food is imported. the little bit that is produced on island often goes to waste. “wow…” i was surprised but not amazed by what Farmer Brown shared. again, the same is true for many other islands. both Ashley + i had learned similar facts on separate trips to Puerto Rico. “that’s why people like Errol are just giving it away,” i said, referring to our interview the previous day, where Errol shared that his acre of land produced more food + honey than his family could consume or sell. gifting the earthly goods to neighbors + friends ensured less waste while also restoring community, culture + health. i had to agree with Dale when he shared that it’s truly “heart wrenching”; St. Croix has nothing but stretches of beautiful green-gold land.

“you’ll see at the Ag Fair bounties of food. because we prepare for it […] but after that - that moment is just a reminder that what is possible.” Dale identified colonialism as being a key culprit in this situation; reliance on the modern, industrialized world, as opposed to commitment to the life we are gifted. mother earth provides us with all we need + like so many of us do to our own human parents, we shun her love + teachings + gifts in exchange for acceptance in a world that wants nothing more than to wring us dry of all we have. “we can do a lot better,” Dale ran a rake across the pebbled ground, clearing the way for the cleaning + packaging of his Ag Fair goods. “our island is actually starving […] there’s too much illnesses + sickness on a small island like this [+] it’s all about how society perceives food.”

Yvette added her thoughts on food sovereignty: “[being an island] we don’t have the capacity, in case of emergency, to feed ourselves. we don’t have the capacity to even survive for a day without assistance. we are surrounded by waters.” any natural or man-made disaster that affects the island leads to a total shutdown; anything affecting Florida, where most of the island imports come through, affects the food that is able to come in to the island. “the only way for us to be able to survive is having the capability of food security. + we don’t have that […] years + years of dependency on the outside to feed us [+ now] it has become our way of survival.”

but for Black folks, African peoples, agriculture is nothing new. it’s not just something that’s “trendy in 2020”, as the Ag Fair tagline proclaimed. it is something we’ve done for as long as we’ve been we. the simple practice of living hand-in-hand with the earth has become a foreign practice in as little as two generations. being able to cultivate + steward + grow, it’s our power. the power to work in harmony with the natural world, isn’t that what “history” tells us is the reason Black bodies were enslaved? the reason behind colonialism: the desire to capture, harness + rule that power. + there was Yvette voicing my own thoughts. “we are letting our power die out.” where our grandmothers kept gardens, we keep full Amazon carts; where our elders + ancestors valued patience, we value same-day delivery.

it’s systematic though, right? i’m reflecting on a conversation my homegirl Shivon + i recently had. “i don’t want to do anything,” her voice bogged with fatigue.” “i just want to read + grow + be with my family.” but she gotta work. we all do. you can’t read or grow or spend time with family without having put in your due time at the job. all to earn a paycheck that pays for the books to read, the seeds + space to grow, the home to be with your family in. + after all that working, do you have the time + energy to do those things? what has to be sacrificed?

when i was a culinary artist for the Philadelphia Assembled Kitchen, i asked my father to write + perform a poem for am event i was hosting. “the theme is survival, so can you write about that?” he was resistant, insistently so. when he stepped in front of the crowd on the day of, he told them, “when Khaliah asked me to write about survival, i almost said no. because, especially as Black people, it’s time for us to stop focusing on the act of surviving + start working on the ability to thrive.”

that’s what the Farmers Brown were talking about, right? whether it’s St. Croix or North Philly, Black folks have become so adept at surviving. we congratulate ourselves for it, patting ourselves on the back for making it another day, for just getting by. but like my Dad said, like Farmers Brown preached, it’s all about our perception. we have to change our mindsets. we have to remember that it is our right as living beings, to thrive. + like every other living thing, we have to be committed to thriving, do our damnedest to thrive, come hell or high water. come colonialism or goddamn covid. to live is to thrive.

food sovereignty, i’ve decided, isn’t about teaching people how to survive. its about equipping and reminding communities that. we have every right and the power to thrive. to truly live our lives.

we had barely been with the Farmers Brown for 30 minutes + already received an overwhelming wealth of information. we proceeded to stay + help the Farmers Brown for the next two hours, washing + culling arugula, while Dale + Yvette regaled us with more tales of their land stewardship + their philosophies on what it meant to be an “African person”. honestly, i could have sat at Dale + Yvette’s feet for the rest of my time on the island.

but perhaps those are other stories.

NOTE:

in summer 2021, the Browns asked their communities (+ that includes us, doesn't it?) to help a fellow farmer who recently suffered a tremendous loss. Ra’s Sunrise Daughter Farm Stand lost the majority of the farm equipment + supplies to a fire the ravaged across their property. they are raising funds to replace the lost farming equipment so that they may continue their growing + harvesting season.

you can support Ms. Violet Drew, Samuel Tyson + Ra’s Sunrise Daughter by donating to the GoFundMe. times is hard for everyone, so if money is not where you’re blessed right now, feel free to spread the word to those you can donate, send up a prayer or at least light a candle for these folks. this is the work Farmer Brown be talking about. do for us cause we all we got.