Once Upon an African Faerie Mother Nateur

Once Upon an African Faerie By Mother Nateur

There is a kind of magic you can experience in a fairy space, and as a black man, I understand the privilege of choosing your own path and finding a community that holds and respects you. I don’t need to say much about my background, but I was taught that issues in our life can dominate us, hold us back. In Faerie space, where we allow ourselves to manifest, where we can create ourselves, I was able to find that what I learned in childhood was not my reality. My childhood didn’t teach me to expect the unfiltered love you can receive from an event like the Third Global Gathering of Radical Faeries, where I found myself in mid-February 2020, near Barrydale, South Africa. This gathering was special, as it was the first gathering in Africa and my first time as an African American in Africa. There were a lot of firsts for many of the folks who were a part of this wonderful creation, and a wonderful creation it was. Even so, I had some issues, and I’ll lay them on the table for people to consider.

I’ll start by letting you know I was welcomed with love and warmth. The color of my skin did not seem to separate me, other than the compliments it got me—until I tried to unify my fellow blackand brown-skinned Faeries, the ones who lived in Africa and chose to come to the gathering.

The people who lead Faerie gatherings, I’ve noticed, are loving, caring people who think about inclusion. That said, they happen to be predominantly white men. When dealing with the intersection of a radical space, combined with being a man of African roots with American history, combined with the Faerie magic that comes with the first event of its kind in Africa: It all makes for a potion of deep self-reflection, healing and learning. Therefore, it could have been beneficial to have a man of color be one of the organizers, so my healing journey could have been seen and given the chance it needed to prosper and grow. If we include a person of color in an organizing role, there won’t be the need to worry if the gathering will be more inclusive:

Having a person of color there will show inclusion is important and that it already exists.

When I first arrived at the gathering, there was a very clear intent to be radical. But when I showed up, I was the only black or brown person there. I thought, “Wow, what did I sign up for? Did I make a mistake? Did I come all the way to Africa to be a sprinkle of black in an all-white space?” Four hours later, another bus arrived with black and brown Africans. Seeing them was like heaven, and it brought me such joy to see that second bus roll in with faces similar to my own.

At the gathering, we all had our own creative freedom. I was told, “Give to the gathering exactly what I see as fit,” so I created a healing space for the black and brown African Faeries. It was a great success. There were so many tears from people in the healing circles thanking me for bringing us together and creating the safety these unique circles could bring. The black and brown African Faeries and I felt like we were moving mountains of trauma, gathering to talk about similar issues but also how we overcame them. We not only wanted to talk about problems, we were focused on coming up with solutions for ourselves and the group. We wanted to reclaim our healing and move past trauma.

After the second healing circle, I got a message from a fellow American Faerie (white male), who said my creation of the healing circles had segregated the gathering. Interesting, that 48 hours of separation in his mind equated to a word—segregation—that black and brown people in America had lived through for years, an experience that caused them to lose many of their human rights. I was heartbroken. The excitement of hearing the voices of people whose faces mirrored mine, in Africa, was powerful and remarkable. To be told the special act was somehow wrong made me understand how much those healing circles were needed. I felt defeated, but I also felt essential.

Not knowing how to move forward, I let go of the healing circles. I couldn’t figure out how to keep going without creating discomfort for me or the person who was against what I was doing. This taught me a lesson: There is no way you can please your heart’s desire and please everyone else at the same time. In life we must pick one. Uncertain if I was loved or hated, I allowed the rest of the gathering to bring me peace. Even without finishing what I started, I was constantly reminded by the black and brown Africans that what I did was needed and asked when the next healing circle would be held. I accepted defeat this time, but I also held on to the love I’d received from every individual, both African and white men alike.

This gathering changed my life. It gave me a sense of understanding and allowed me to see where the lines of love and hate exist. I’m happy to be a man of color in a Faerie space, but I feel that in the future, there should be a person who can advocate for me, who looks like me. It may help turn organizers’ dreams of inclusion into reality. The gathering caused me to seek a bond with Africans who saw my need to learn more about myself through them. They taught me dances, showed me how to make local food and shared music with me I’ll never forget.

I was healed from this event—but it came from folks who look like me. I felt the opposite from a few non-black Faeries who struggle to advocate for something they don’t experience themselves. This is why we need more inclusive advocacy in the Faerie world. I see it as a great opportunity to do better in a radical place with radical people where radical things can happen.