PHOTO: Mike Tan; DESIGN: ANDREW MCMANUS/CBC
Here
The Prairies are rich with the collective memories of the Black people who came before us
April 25, 2021Their care for community can be traced through the earth of their garden, to their hands, to their table, to us.
By Cheryl Foggo, for CBC First Person
Here
The Prairies are rich with the collective memories of the Black people who came before us
Their care for community can be traced through the earth of their garden, to their hands, to their table, to us.
By Cheryl Foggo, for CBC First Person
- Black on the Prairies
- Jan 24, 2022
This First Person column is written by Cheryl Foggo, a multiple-award-winning playwright, author and filmmaker. For more information about CBC’s First Person stories, please see the FAQ.
—
Much of my attachment to where I live came through my uncle, Rev. Andrew Risby.
Born in 1917 on a farm near Campsie, Alta., he arrived at Calgary in 1946 on a temporary preaching assignment. “Temporary” stretched into decades after my mom’s beautiful older sister, Edith, showed up for the services. Aunt Edie and Uncle Andrew ministered to Calgary’s Black communities and anyone else who cared to join the party until he died in 2002.
One of my earliest memories is of sitting with him on the sheltered wooden porch of their home in Calgary’s Bankview neighbourhood. We were churning cream. He insisted the ice cream of his youth on the farm was superior, which seemed preposterous to me. I couldn’t wait to tell the expected guests that I had helped.
Every Sunday afternoon, they fed 30 to 50 people: church members, family, random hungry acquaintances. They made it look simple.
Years later, when I decided to bake Aunt Edie’s iconic chocolate cake for a special occasion, I realized I had taken for granted the amount of work that went into preparing these meals. I called her for the recipe, then spent three frantic hours on the “whipping up.”
Each of the dozens of appetizers, mains and desserts repeated the template of the ice cream and the chocolate cake — made with skill from the freshest, best ingredients. Every Sunday.
I still dream about those feasts.
I recently asked my cousin Phillip Risby if the produce served at Sunday dinner came from their backyard garden. I was surprised by the additional context he provided. Twice a week after school, Phillip and my other Risby cousins were piled into the car and transported to large community plots on the outskirts of the city to weed and harvest potatoes, carrots, turnips, greens, beets, beans, cabbage and peas.
Their care for community can be traced through the earth of their garden, to their hands, to their table, to us. When I think of place, I see their brown hands.
A place for us
Aunt Edie and Uncle Andrew loved both the soil and the landscapes of Alberta. They taught us that the mountains were a place for us.
It seemed important to Uncle Andrew, in particular, that we feel connected to the families and the story of the Black Migration of 1910. He transported us up to the farms when we still had family in Amber Valley. He founded Newbrook Camp, a Christian family Bible camp. He organized caravan drives of Black people through the foothills to enjoy the views or for picnics.
