I went to the African Burial ground this past weekend on the 23 of October. I almost didn’t make it on the trip. My roommates and I woke up late at 5:30, took a quick shower, and arrived outside of Crampton right before the buses were pulling off. To my amazement, there were two seats left on the 4th bus right across from Dr. Carr and Dr. Dana Williams, my two favorite lecturers.
Before arriving to our destination, my mind wondered what waited upon our arrival. I figured that it wouldn’t be a graveyard with tombstones because the graveyard consisted of unmarked graves. But I knew that there were many of our ancestors still buried in the site. When we arrived I saw that it consisted of a memorial and a museum. After passing through the metal detectors, the first thing I saw was a group of about four people standing around two tombs. As I walked closer to the scene I slowly began to realize that the group was not real people. I really liked the exhibit because it looked so realistic. I saw the pain and sorrow in the statues faces. The sorrow that they expressed was sorrow that had been passed from generation to generation. Sorrow that I knew of, but had never felt. One of the speakers summarized what I was thinking when he said that my generation was not one that was close to the African American battle; meaning that we were born too far away from the Civil Rights Movement to fully comprehend the African American struggle.
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