The Soul That New Orleans Built

 The Soul That New Orleans Built

By Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

I’m me in New Orleans, ya heard me? Not a half-stepper, not somebody tryna be I'm it. The real-deal soul that was raised in the 7th Ward, soaked in second lines, rooted in block wisdom, and baptized in porch prayers and hard knocks.

See, the 7th Ward? That ain’t just where I stayed it’s what raised me. That was the cradle, the classroom, the church, and the war zone. We ain't just live we learned, we loved, we lost, and we leaned on faith like it was the last step left. That “7th Ward Hard Head” anthem? That was more than music that was the code. That was how we moved, how we kept our chin up even when life tried to chin-check us.

Round here, God is in the gumbo and the grind. We don't separate the holy from the hood it’s all one down here. A prayer might come with a side of fried fish, and a “Bless ya heart” might follow right after a curse word. But that’s Nawlins imperfect, sacred, alive.

My soul got its seasoning from grandmas who could look you in the eye and see straight through the lie. From mamas who held down the house, the street, and their sanity. My roots? They deep like oak trees on Esplanade. I ain’t blowin’ in the wind I’m grounded. My people? They didn’t just raise me they poured into me. Made sure I knew how to talk with spirit and walk with sense.

Every corner I turn in this city got a memory and a miracle. I remember sittin’ on them steps with my people, tellin’ stories and gettin’ fed body and soul. The Spirit moved through them blocks just like the brass bands loud, real, unstoppable. And when life got rough, we ain’t fold we prayed harder and danced anyway. ‘Cause around here, even grief got a groove.

That 7th Ward rhythm still beat in my chest. I’m walkin’ with my head up ‘cause I know Who brought me. The Creator been carryin’ me since I was lil, watchin’ over me through hurricanes, heartache, and hard times. And every time I thought I was down for good, a whisper from heaven said, “Nah baby, get up you still got work to do.”

I ain’t never had to leave Nawlins to find myself. I found me right here in the smell of red beans on a Monday, in the echo of a tambourine from a storefront church, in the way the elders still call you “baby” no matter how grown you are. I found me in the 7th Ward, with cracked sidewalks and unshakable faith.

I don’t talk like everybody else. I don’t move like everybody else. That’s ‘cause I’m homegrown, full of rhythm, fire, and favor. I’m what happens when the Spirit and the streets agree. And let me tell you when them two line up? Can’t nothin’ stop you.

So yeah I’m me in New Orleans.

Spirit-fed, 7th Ward raised, fire-tested, favor-covered.

And like my grandmother Celestine used to say,

“Don’t let this world change yo’ flavor, baby just make sure you seasoned with love.”