Laughter and learning by the Liverpool docks

Albert docks, Liverpool, UK. Home to the International Slavery Museum

I was forced out of the International Slavery Museum (ISM) before I was ready. Sure, I knew what time they closed, but I’d been a busy little walkabout, or laze-about rather, on the day I visited Liverpool. I’d lounged in a cafe for far too long drinking chocolatey hot chocolate with marshmallows and whipped cream, and playacting with three curious young men who had some sort of lipstick fetish.

Memories, I thought, were in the making. How could I rush it? Besides, the museum might be boring, and the three clowns before me were cute, and working hard to make me laugh.

Boy was I wrong.

After about two hours at the museum, it was closing time, and I realized three or four hours might’ve been more appropriate.

At the ISM, which takes up the third floor of Liverpool’s Maritime Museum building, the discussion — and people do stop to discuss what they’re viewing with interested strangers — goes beyond historical slavery. Slavery exists today, the controversial but eye-opening material points out. For example, nannies who work abroad and are whipped and detained on their employers premises, but never paid — is this slavery? Does classism, ignorance, secrecy and fear of the topic allow it to continue?

Venturing deeper into the museum’s offerings, you’ll find various multimedia presentations and traditional exhibits. Traditional African homes have been re-created with a focus on art as well as history, while carvings and archeological finds, though not extensive, are all provided with research explaining their significance.

It is at the ISM that I learned that okra (which I’ve heard some Jamaicans call, okro) is also called gumbo by those in Louisiana — so not just the stew or soup, but the seed pod itself. West Africans brought this vegetable to the lands where they were enslaved, be that America, or caribbean islands such as Jamaica.

That these edible green seed pods, according to the ISM, point culturally to Nigeria (which I understand is elsewhere disputed) made sense to me. So, instantly there was new respect for something that, as a child and into young adulthood, I’d always looked at as slimy and disgusting, whether fried with mackerel or not.

Ackee — half of the Jamaican national dish, ackee and salt fish — also originates in West Africa. Slaves brought it with them to the island.

Even the farming of yams and other provisions is a continuation of the West-African agricultural tradition.

Cassava, which my grandmother uses to make bammy, took on new importance, beyond what either of us recognized.

Fried plantain was also notable now, for along with those already mentioned, it has long been part of the West-African diet.

On the brink of understanding, I earnestly tried to synthesize new information with old.  Then, as I left the building, it struck me: Slaves maintained their culture in fragments, instinctively fusing it as needed with all that they encountered in their new homelands till, today, few probably understand how connected they remain to the African continent.

These connections, not just data, but these tangible ways in which culture perseveres, moved me immensely, and as I left the building I had to distract myself from tears.

I was overwhelmed by a feeling of gratitude and responsibility. I owe so much to so many whom I’ll never meet or be able to thank.

But because of my visit to the ISM, I understand that immeasurable thanks are in order still. The legacy I’ve found is enduring.

If you’re in Liverpool, I’d suggest strolling down to the Albert dock for a visit. It is free, and what’s more, because the discussion goes beyond slavery, you might leave with a greater understanding of yourself and others.