I need to tell the story

Little did I know the everlasting impact this day would have upon me.  My story today begins in Africatown, Alabama.  It is located about five miles out of Mobile. To better understand the impact, let me first share the saddening and courageous history of Africatown.

In 1807, a federal act prohibited persons for slavery to be imported to the United States.  Fifty-two years later, a group of wealthy white businessmen wagered a bet.  They wanted to see if they could evade the authorities importing new Africans to enslave.  The ship avoided the normal docks in the middle of the night to be undetected.  Downstream, the Africans were transferred over to a steam ship.  The crew then burned the original vessel so there would be no proof of their illegal actions.  One year later, the Federal courts found the wagering businessmen and crew not guilty of a crime as there was not sufficient evidence to convict.  

Thirty-two of the slaves from that vessel gained freedom and began the community of Africatown. The oldest survivor, Cudjoe Lewis, became a leader for the community and the community thrived for many years. One of his primary goals was to maintain the traditions of their tribe in the United States. A monument honoring his efforts was placed in 1959 in front of the local Baptist church. There are still about 100 known descendants living there today.

As I drove through the well weathered and unmaintained streets, I was exposed to a lot of poverty.  I found myself stopping many times trying to take it all in - the brutal history, the once thriving community and the present living conditions.  

As I was about to leave Africatown, I saw a freshly painted garage in front of me.  As I stopped, I noticed four young black men intently watching me.  Feeling intimidated I was about to abruptly leave.  Instead, I exited my car and introduced myself.  We engaged in a conversation for over thirty minutes.  These young men want to bring opportunities back to their community - especially the youth.  The once abandoned garage is being transformed into a welding training center.  The center is in honor of Leslie Bernard Stone Jr. who lost his life in the community at the of seventeen.  The garage was passed down to Leslie's father by his grandfather.  In the photo above stands Leslie Sr wearing the black jacket.  Throughout our conversation I listened to his personal words of pain, hope and faith.  We walked around the area as we continued our conversation.

The other side of the garage proudly displays Leslie aside his grandfather.  This group of men hope to offer a tuition free program in the future. Upon my departure, I shook each of their hands sharing my words of gratitude.  The handshakes transformed into hugs. Today I will not forget.  Encounters such as today are my most favorite parts of this epic journey.  It is the people I encounter which I draw most out of these experiences.