Last week I found myself in much the same position as I was the year before—scrambling to find a Mother’s Day gift before Sunday rolled around. About 365 days ago I was scouring the internet for last minute ideas on how to spend the day with my mom as if I hadn’t been bombarded by commercials and targeted adds hinting at the arrival of the holiday ever since the passage of Easter. Strategizing with my sister, we decided to attend a local food festival to celebrate and do what my family does best. Eat.
Food has always been a big deal in my family. Growing up, I was always taught that sharing a meal was one of the most authentic ways to love and care for someone. Mealtimes were opportunities to invite people into your life and connect through a vulnerable shared experience. You can safely assume that after 25 years of this conditioning, food has inevitably become my favorite love language.
Arriving at the food festival that hot, muggy Mother’s Day afternoon, I knew that we were surrounded by our kind. People who had gathered in the name of good music, great company, and fantastic food. Sitting around a picnic table with my parents, stuffing our faces with vegetable dumplings and bubble tea, my sister and I began to discuss what it would be like to have a festival highlighting our Eritrean heritage and cuisine. What began as tableside conversation quickly turned into a brainstorming session. I remember how effortlessly the ideas flowed and how impassioned the discussion grew even after my parents had left the table (no doubt, rolling their eyes) in search of dessert. My sister and I found ourselves in agreement that a festival celebrating African cultures and bringing to light the beauty of their diversity was exactly the one that we had needed growing up in Cincinnati. And in the age of embracing #melaninmagic and Wakanda Forever, why couldn’t we make this festival a reality?
We got home that evening—bellies full of boba, heads full of ideas— and got right to work on what we dubbed Afrofood Festival. I wish I could say it was all smooth sailing from there, but I think we both know that’s not how things went. After taking the leap and securing our venue, the real work began. How were we going to get vendors with no guarantee there would be attendees? How were we going to get attendees without any assurance that we could recruit vendors? What did we even know about hosting an event of this magnitude and what on earth made us qualified? To put it simply— nothing. But we decided to put one foot in front of the other and learn along the way. I can’t speak for my sister, but I’ll admit, I almost turned back every step of the way. In the following months, I must have logged over 200 hours and 2000 miles pin-balling across Cincinnati to give our festival pitch to local restaurants and businesses. The sting of rejection never got easier. In these moments, two things (+ coffee and the fear of failure) kept me going.
Firstly: I kept in the forefront of my mind my firm belief in the potential of Afrofood Festival and what it might mean to the Cincinnati community. Growing up in an extremely white, extremely homogenous area, I understood what people meant when they said that Cincinnati could be a segregated city. My sister and I wanted to use the festival to not only give local African-owned businesses an opportunity to reach new audiences and experience growth, but to serve as a space that promoted learning. Our hope was that through providing an opportunity to experience various African cultures through food, music, art and dance, we might leave festival attendees with a greater understanding of diaspora communities. I held tight to the idea that through this deepened understanding, we might just foster a greater sense of unity across racial and ethnic lines in Cincinnati.
Secondly: I embraced my growing belief that I was unequivocally where I was meant to be, and decided to lean in. At a time in my life when I was doubting my path, potential, and purpose, Afrofood Festival was my decided step forward and my reassurance. That my perspective was one worth sharing. That my experiences were valuable and my voice important. I believe that there’s a time and place for seeking permission and allowing advice from others to inform your decisions, and then there is a time for trusting in your own vision.
I discovered for myself that there is truth in the cliché that failure makes success that much sweeter. That the harder the battle fought, the sweeter the victory won. With every new community member that shared their belief in our idea and invested in our festival mission, I felt a renewed surge of confidence that I was in the right place. And that the whole festival thing miiight just work out. And on September 1st—in an amazing, exhilarating, whirlwind of a late summer day—it did! With food, clothes, and art from 12 local vendors, fashion, poetry, and music from various community organizations, and over 1000 festival attendees, Afrofood Festival was our dream turned into reality. Our community, gathered together in the name of all things Africa, breaking bread with one another.
Since we’re talking clichés, it’s worth noting that it’s also true what they say about how life moves in cycles. A year has gone by since the idea for Afrofood Festival was born, and as I work towards figuring out my next steps in life, I’ve found myself battling a few of the same doubts that plagued me throughout festival-prep. But this time I know the solution: believe in my voice, work hard then work even harder, and rest assured that if I can’t find opportunities, I have the power to create them. Welcome to Renaissance Rahela, my newest creation!
-R
Photos by Iko Bako and Saxx 5th Visuals