We’ve been conditioned to think that traditional Black food is not nutritious, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. History and food are a source of empowerment to change the narrative regarding nutrition and health across the African diaspora.
Building a Legacy of Generational Health in the Heartland
Growing up in Oklahoma, as I snapped fresh green beans with my maternal grandma, I would hear phrases, "Eat like your grandmother to reach a ripe old age," or about "getting good genes in the family." Well, a 2018 study published in Genetics that analyzed family trees of more than 400 million people suggested that genetics are not as influential on life span as I would have thought. The truth is, what you eat, the company you keep and how you live your life are more impactful.
In the tale of my two grandmothers who lived a mile apart in Northeast Oklahoma City, while genetically not related, both had diabetes later in life. And both women dealt with trauma, grief and loss, but how they lived their lives and managed their conditions differed greatly. My paternal grandmother Ruby, a pragmatic woman of faith, just celebrated her 96th birthday. She grew up in Eufaula, Oklahoma, where her grandfather Jiles operated the family farm. She later moved to the city, working as a nurse for 35 years at the University of Oklahoma Medical Center.
Over her lifetime, my grandma Ruby has overcome a stroke and has managed her type 2 diabetes for decades. Whereas my late maternal grandmother Minnie Mae, affectionately known as Nannie, stayed home, smoked cigarettes, ate sweets, had a pacemaker and died from complications of diabetes in her 70s. Fast forward: Nannie's death sparked my pursuit of wellness, which I shared in my TEDx Talk on how women are reclaiming our heritage food as medicine.
My grandmothers are not alone in the fight against diabetes. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, more than 37 million Americans live with diabetes, of whom 90% to 95% of them have type 2 diabetes. The CDC has also reported that people with diabetes are twice as likely to have heart disease or a stroke (which was the case for both my grandmothers)—and at a younger age—compared to someone who doesn't have diabetes. The longer someone has diabetes, the chances of heart disease increase. And those stats increase sharply if you're Black, due to systemic racism that affects social and economic conditions. That's why I proclaimed when Nannie died that diabetes would not become a part of my heritage and generational health.
Finding My Black Food Roots in the Motherland
As the only Black undergraduate student in the nutrition program at Oklahoma State University in Stillwater at the time, I was being taught, unconsciously, that my food culture was part of the problem when it came to the health in our communities. This was without any acknowledgment of the inherent healthiness of many traditional Black foods. There was no historical context or willingness to see humanity in the struggle and survival of Black people consuming foods such as chitlins, hot links, stewed beans with neck bones, watermelon, collard greens cooked with smoked meats, and gumbo. Our food, like Black people, has risen like the phoenix, enduring, resisting and recovering from being weaponized to being liberated. From farm to fork, we see this liberation in the work of Leah Penniman's Farming While Black: Soul Fire Farm's Practical Guide to Liberation on the Land and Chef Bryant Terry's Black Food. That liberatory journey began for me after I lost my firefighting father, Calvin Coolidge Hill Jr., tragically in 2007. Honoring our shared love of food and family history kick-started my self-discovery journey to live life with no regrets and on my own terms. For me that meant returning to the Motherland.
In search of my Black food roots, I embarked on a trip in 2016 to reclaim my African heritage and health. Thanks to African Ancestry for the DNA clues, I became the first in six generations to return to my ancestral land, home of the Fulani people in northern Nigeria. After a six-hour drive from Abuja, Nigeria, to the ruga ("village" in Hausa) in Kano, I was greeted with fura de nono (fermented milk and millet)—a traditional dish. The women prepared for me kuka and tuwo—which is baobab leaves and rice balls, along with zobo (a hibiscus drink). I walked the streets with Fulani herdsmen and their cattle and petted baby goats in the ruga, reminding me of life in Oklahoma. Once there, the values that spoke to my cultural well-being were clear: faith, family, freedom and, above all, food. I felt belonged, transformed and renewed in my soul.
Remembering Our Food Freedom Fighters and Meal Healers—and Continuing Their Mission
In celebration of Black History Month and beyond, we are resurrecting the soul of Black food and paying homage to the culinary creators and meal healers who have poured their love into continuing the delectable and healing traditions of our families and communities. Black food is a shared story of resistance, resilience, restoration and liberation
That celebration begins with everyday mamas, aunties, nanas and sisters who toiled and labored in kitchens and on farms to preserve our heritage and wellness through food. That's why, in 2015, I founded WANDA (Women Advancing Nutrition, Dietetics and Agriculture) to reclaim the healing power of heritage foods by unlocking the power of Black women and girls who have been the hidden figures in our food system for too long. Cultivating a sisterhood, we are bringing women together to educate and advocate for generational health and embrace a healing culture through growing and cooking Black food to honor our heritage.
Historically, Black people come from a culture of communalism: "ubuntu," which is a Bantu term translated as "I am because we are," with an understanding that "our liberty is bound together." Furthering the point, the roots of her mantra extend an old African proverb that states, "If you want to go quickly, go alone. If you want to go far, go together." If we want to heal our communities, we begin with healing our meals together. So we honor the women who find purpose and joy in cooking for their community, which is also their medicine.
Resisting a Black Food Monolithic Narrative
Black food is constantly evolving. It's not monolithic or stuck in one place. Black food culture is as expansive as continental Africa. So a narrow lens is insufficient in telling the story of Black food.
From the Caribbean, South America and the Southern states of the U.S., the diasporic journey of Black food has a dynamic story to tell. And within the U.S., you can find Black regional cuisines ranging from the Low Country, New England, the Southwest, West Coast and the Black cowboy culture of the Heartland that I call home. Yet, even within Black food culture and books, certain regional cuisines are overrepresented while others are not captured at all.
Traveling across America and the Caribbean has given me the privilege to taste the range and depth of Black food culture that's emerged into contemporary fusion fare with a rich history. While in Jamaica, Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic, I have enjoyed horchata (originally made from tiger nut) and sorrel (made from hibiscus), beverages that both have West African roots, washing my palate after a curry dish with callaloo, rice and peas and plantains or a plate of mofongo.
In the Cajun country of Louisiana, I have enjoyed the late Leah Chase's Gumbo Z'Herbes, jambalaya and gumbo at Dooky Chase's. I snacked on boiled peanuts while in the Black Belt region of Georgia
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