Big Chief By Anne Fricke

A couple months after Obama’s historic win, my family and I were on a sailboat anchored off a small island in the Bahamas. Our boat was old and clunky and stood out in the fleet of sleek-lined vessels predominantly owned by retired, conservative Americans. We were a young couple, traveling with our four-year-old, showing her an alternative to the daily grind.

On Inauguration Day, the energy in the harbor was subdued. We made our way via dinghy to the dock of a small yacht club. The yacht club was not fancy or stuffy like the ones I’d seen portrayed in the movies. Seashells and fishing nets adorned the walls and windowsills, and shoes were not required. We’d packed a bag of art supplies to keep our daughter entertained while we watched the inauguration on the big screen.

Expecting the place to be crowded with sailors as it was most days, it surprised me to find the club quiet. We stepped into the dimness of the bar and noticed the tables were empty. Only a few Bahamians sat around the horseshoe bar. We set our daughter up at a corner table with her art supplies and took a seat at the end of the bar facing the TV.

“Where is everyone? I figured they’d all be here by now,” I asked my husband.

“I bet they don’t feel like celebrating. I can’t imagine any of them are too happy that Obama won.”

* * *

The TV displayed the preparations and beginnings of the inauguration. Slowly the bar stools began to fill. Before long, it was standing room only. The usual sailors weren’t the ones patronizing the bar. The locals were filling the place. I’d naively thought the Bahamians wouldn’t be interested in the inauguration of a US president. I had misjudged how meaningful this was for people around the world. In this part of the Bahamas, populated almost solely by descendants of Africans forced to the islands by Europeans, seeing a black man take the most powerful position in the US was momentous!

The enthusiasm increased as the news channels showed highlights of what was to come and who would be at the celebration. Voices were raised in jubilation, and champagne bottles opened. People filtered in from the surrounding town, but there were no sailors amongst them. This was a rare day, indeed.

One boisterous man’s voice rose above the chatter of the crowd every time Barack’s face came on the screen.

“Big Chief! Big Chief!” he yelled. This made my husband and I lock eyes and smile. The people around us cheered in response.

When Obama’s daughters appeared on the TV, he yelled “Little boss gals!” in his very distinct Bahamian accent.

The bar was raucous, the elation and celebration spilled out onto the front porch. I kept peering out, waiting for a fleet of dinghies from the sailboats. Surely someone from the states wanted to celebrate this occasion with us. Surely they could see the festivities and would want to join in the camaraderie of such an unforgettable event.

Eventually, the ceremony began, and the bar hushed to a very respectful silence. We all watched as music played, and the Obama family walked proudly onto the scene.

* * *

Another sailing family came in, and I was grateful we weren’t the only Americans celebrating. The couple and their young son stood next to us and ordered food from the bar. I nodded to the woman but kept my attention on the TV as the inauguration proceeded. I held tight to my husband’s hand, feeling my heart swell.

The moment came for Barack to take his oath of office. Everyone listened with inspired silence. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and the boy a few seats away asked his mom, “Why is she crying?”

“Because her country is swearing in a new president,” she said with an obvious Canadian accent. They were not fellow Americans honoring the ushering in of our first black president after all. They were bystanders merely trying to eat. I pushed their conversation from my thoughts as Obama finished his oath. The bar erupted in an explosion of applause and cheers. My husband and I stood up and hugged each other tightly. We felt so proud of our country and so full of hope for the future. We smiled, we laughed, and we all shared our sentiments of hope with the other patrons.

We went to our daughter at the corner table, hugged her, and shared our excitement. She was unimpressed by our news, her only concern being her art project and the food we put in front of her. We sat reveling in the joy of the day and the happy feelings of those around us.

As the locals began to leave, we packed up our daughter and her art supplies. The inauguration was over and the celebration was dying down, but our spirits were alive with inspiration. We walked outside, and I saw the other sailors were getting into their dinghies to head ashore for dinner at the yacht club. Now that the channel was switched to something benign and our celebration over, they could sit at their tables and eat conch fritters and drink rum and grumble about the day. What they didn’t realize was that our energy was permeating the bar. It would take a long time for that to dissipate.

My daughter and I settled on the dinghy bench. I thought of Barack’s words:

“Let it be said by our children’s children that when we were tested we refused to let this journey end, that we did not turn back nor did we falter; and with eyes fixed on the horizon and God’s grace upon us, we carried forth that great gift of freedom and delivered it safely to future generations.”

My husband started up the outboard motor and took us to our temporary home on the water. I thought of the words of our new president, pulled my daughter tight to my side, and offered up my own prayer: “May these words be true.”

Anne Fricke is an author, performance poet, storyteller, podcaster, mother, and wife. She lives in far Northern California, writes daily, and travels when she can. Her newest book of poems, One Mother’s Revolution, is an attempt to make sense of the current state of the world through poetry. She shares her experience of raising a child with special needs, along with the stories of other parents on similar journeys, on her podcast Walking with Freya.