Dispatch by Inye Wokoma: April 5, 2021, 6:48pm - Last weekend cousin Melissa Green, who now lives on the east coast, called me out of the blue to say hi. She is an author, college professor and family historian and our conversation meandered in and out of a lot of things about our family today and back in the day. We immediately found ourselves sharing a deep gratitude for our upbringing in a large, very close-knit extended family in the Central District. As we went deeper we shared stories neither of us had ever told anyone.

Eventually we came to the subject of our grandparent’s generation, The Great Eight Grands as we named them in our conversation. Here our meandering paused for a long while. The Great Eight Grands were the siblings who migrated from Arkansas and put down roots in Seattle, together. They worked together, worshipped together and played together. Sometimes they lived together and in any case not one of them would let another go away in need. Their presence in our lives was massive, towering, all-encompassing and whole. It is hard to think about one of them without thinking about all of them. This is how close they were as siblings. As their children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, great-great-grandchildren, and nieces and nephews for just as many generations, we were covered and held together by their bond. As a family and as individuals their love for one another shaped who we are. Even now, a we are all spread out across the city, county, state and country, this experience binds us together. Being together, being able to get up at a moment’s notice and go next door, walked down the block, or take a quick 5 minute drive to see an auntie, uncle, cousin, brother, sister, mother father son or daughter, is something that we miss more than anything else. They kept us together and raised us together, all of them for all us. Melissa and I held this truth between us, turned it over and around, took it in from all angles. We realized how much we took the experience for granted as ‘just the way’. We realized how precious that way really was and how blessed we were to be born into it.

On this day, Wa Na Wari’s second birthday, I am thinking almost entirely about The Great Eight, my Grands. They are the reason I could sit inside of this house, 911 24th Ave, in 2018, and hear its walls whisper to me. Reminding me of the lives lived here and love that is still seeping out of every crack and seam because of it. I could hear them whispering about stories that have not yet ended. They said that there was still so much more life for our family to live amidst those walls. So much more love to be poured into them. I could hear them whispering that I could help start the next chapter in our story here. In the ways that The Great Eight raised us, I was not told how to do this, just that I could and it was my work if I chose it. I am remembering this as a real moment in time. They lifted me up and show me the way to Wa Na Wari.

Now, two years later, Wa Na Wari is much more than I could have ever imagined. The family that lives in that space is so much bigger. I am thinking about all of the artists that have come through and made this house their creative home for a time then adopted it as a spiritual home thereafter. I am thinking about everyone who threw a party, came through for an exhibit or event, stopped by to chat for an afternoon, hung out and read books on the porch even when we were closed (are we ever really closed then?), decided to host their gathering, poetry reading, art workshop, film screening, podcast recording, or organizing event here. I am thinking about all of you.
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This experience is edifying because it feels like a renaissance. It feels like coming alive again. Like a reawakening from a fitful sleep I wasn’t sure I couldn’t shake myself out of. Every day it makes me feel a little bit more whole after 20 years of watching my family leave the neighborhood, one person, one house, one rent check, one job change at a time. I find myself thinking more and more about how my children can receive even a fraction of what I received as a child. It is a new era, with new versions of many of the old problems my Grands faced. How will we face them? How can we build something worthy of what they gave us? Wa Na Wari is a small part of that new sense of possibility, but it is significant to me. Finally I am seeing people who know they have a reason to come back. And around all of this I feel the spirit of The Great Eight Grands standing around me like towering oaks, permanent, quiet, but never silent. I call on them, Neader Woods, James Green, Birdie Wilson, Betty Coleman, Frank Green, Detroia Weatherspoon, Estella Anderson, Zrelda Trent. Thank You. Amen. Ase.

Elisheba Johnson: I was born at University Hospital. Seattle runs through my veins. I am equal parts rain water and mountain ranges. But while I am of this place, it has never felt like home until now. Wa Na Wari is where I've found home. I grew up going to church at Mt. Zion Baptist Church. I remember the critical mass of Black folks in the Central Area. I remember having a community that I could always go to for spiritual and cultural nourishment. In college I lived in the Central Area. I would take my dog on runs through the neighborhood every day, and I would pass the Quick Pack, go down to the wooded area in Leschi, then reemerge to pass Ethiopian churches, Garfield high school, and the Promenade. These runs would include smiles from community members and the energy of living in a community with people that looked like me. ​