Inheriting a Little Liberation

My love for books started as a teenager, thanks to my Aunt Connie, who opened one of the only Black-owned bookstores in Louisville, Kentucky in the late '90s. Nimde Bookstore—nimde means “knowledge” in Akan, the language of a Ghanaian tribe—sat on the corner of 22nd and Chestnut Streets. Every visit ended the same way: with a new book in my hands.

There, I first discovered Zora Neal Hurston, Audre Lorde, bell hooks, Susan Taylor, Terri McMillian, Chinua Achebe, Omar Tyree, and Erotique Noir - a poetry collection exploring Black intimacy. Those books cracked something open in me. They were an awakening. Through them, I began to understand just how layered and expansive the Black diaspora really was.

Back then, my community often operated with a limited emotional vocabulary. But reading gave me the words—the precise ones—for emotions and experiences I had always felt but never quite knew how to name.

Fast forward to two years ago: Aunt Connie called and said she had something for me to pick up. When I arrived, there were boxes—filled with books she’d stored after the bookstore closed. I was almost moved to tears. Inside were original works by literary giants—many of whom are no longer with us, and some whose books are now banned: Toni Morrison, Alice Walker, Nikki Giovanni, E. Lynn Harris, and many more. There were self-help books, herbal guides, autobiographies, and collectible JET magazines spanning the 1960s to the '90s—about 100+ books and artifacts.

It felt especially powerful given the climate at the time—America’s aggressive push against Critical Race Theory and the ongoing attack on Black literature. This wasn’t just a box of books; it was a gift. A library. A legacy.

And now, it’s something I look forward to sharing with Nola—page by page.