Southern Hospitality

by Daniel France (South Africa)

Making a local connection USA

The gun on my Uber driver’s lap was definitely a surprise. Coming from Johannesburg, South Africa, I thought I knew dangerous cities and had grown over-familiar with guns and violence. My Uber driver must have noticed my surprise as he casually starts explaining that Little Rock, Arkansas, is one of the most dangerous cities in America, "packing heat" is a necessity. The presence of the gun does not help my acute anxiety at the thought of staying with a new friend’s grandmother in Little Rock for two days. I have spent three months working in a hotel resort in Nashville, Tennessee and have recently started my three week Greyhound-bus journey towards the West Coast. Being a history nerd, the top of my itinerary were sites from the Civil Rights Movement. Little Rock homes the school which was the face of the fight for racial integration in schooling. Tensions got so high that, in 1957, president Eisenhower sent federal troops to escort the Little Rock 9 into school when the governor of Arkansas, Orval Faubus, ordered the Arkansas National Guard to surround the school and block entrance to the nine African American children. Upon hearing my desire to visit Little Rock a friend insisted that I stay with her grandmother, a local icon. In my quest for the cheapest possible cross-country trip I jump at the opportunity for free accommodation. Sitting in this armed uber I am beginning to regret my decision. I don’t know this lady, I barely know her granddaughter. Perhaps my anxiety is being exacerbated by a 5-day hangover from Mardis Gras in New Orleans. I knock on the door. Wait. Wait some more. Damn it, is she still asleep? Fair, it’s 7am but don’t old people rise with the sun? Or is that only my grandmother? Is it bad to stereotype old people? I wonder if there’s a coffee shop nearby, but is Little Rock safe enough for me to walk around? The front door is flung open and I’m embraced by Mamma Abrams, a sloppy kiss received on the cheek and ushered into her home in a matter of seconds. I am interviewed by her friend who runs the local newspaper. She is excited to hear about South Africa and hear words of advice from a “the motherland” for her African American readers, “my African brothers and sisters” of the United States. I feel awkward answering these questions, what with me being white and all, but trusting that this lady’s eyes are functional I figure if she’s okay with it then so am I. Her niece takes me to Central High School to see the buildings I have so often seen in documentaries and photos. I have my photo taken at the steps pictured in the iconic photo that I have so often shown my students: the troops escorting the children into school. Back at Mamma Abrams’s house the rush of my arrival has died down and I am treated to a hearty, greasy meal while she shuffles around the kitchen telling me stories of her youth; just what the Mardis Gras hangover needed. She was in her early twenties when the events of the Little Rock 9 took place and she has been involved in politics ever since. In the background the TV streams live proceedings of congress. Mamma Abrams has converted her house into a museum - where the public can visit, with each room brimming with papers, photos and memorabilia of the Civil Rights Movement in Little Rock, including a photo of herself with the Clintons. We’re still friends on Facebook and I enjoy seeing all her updates about the never-ending work she does in politics for her community. When I left I gifted her with the book I was reading at the time, a book by Nelson Mandela’s lawyer during apartheid, George Bizos. Mamma Abrams thought the world had gone full circle having met Nelson Mandela’s personal assistant, Zelda La Grange, only a few months prior. I am reminded of her whenever I look at my bookcase and see the oddly specific yet somehow still sentimental gift of our day together: a copy of the Constitution of the United States of America.