On St. Helena Island, South Carolina, a neighborhood of singers in their 70s and 80s—guided by musicologist Dr. Eric Crawford—breathes lifestyles into centuries-extinct Gullah spirituals, safeguarding a cultural cherish born from the struggles and faith of enslaved Africans. As construction and time threaten to erase this heritage, their mission grows ever extra pressing.
The ensemble, Voices of Gullah, carries ahead spirituals treasure “Kumbaya” and “Roll Jordan Roll” within the traditional Gullah Creole language, rooted in West Africa.
These songs, passed down through generations, originated amongst enslaved laborers on the Sea Islands’ rice and cotton plantations.
“The language is here, the place where they sang is here,” Crawford emphasizes. “This is where the songs began.”
From praise properties to global stages
The neighborhood’s shuffle started humbly in 2007, when Crawford documented four native singers at Coffin Point Reward Residence—one amongst the final three surviving wooden treasure spaces built by the enslaved.
On the present time, they tour the U.S. and past, performing with a vitality that belies their age. “Minnie Gadson is like James Brown—she electrifies crowds,” Crawford says.
“Rosa Murray brings the soul, and Deacon Joe Murray is Gullah Geechee culture.”
A skedaddle against time
With the youngest member, Charles “Jojo” Brown, at 71, the neighborhood confronts mortality.
“I’ll sing till I can’t anymore,” says Brown, who remembers childhood ring shouts the put washboards and pots grew to become instruments.
Crawford fears the tradition could well maybe presumably proceed with out original stewards: “When my singers are gone, who carries the torch?”
Passing the baton
Efforts to stable grants for childhood education operate to noticeably change spirituals into hip-hop or rap—any make that resonates. “Understand its origins, then make it your own,” Crawford urges.
For now, the elders’ voices, weathered but unwavering, dwell the living bridge between past and future.
As Gadson, the Murrays, and Brown clap and sway in Brick Baptist Church, their songs echo extra than melodies—they are a defiant anthem of survival, demanding to be heard.
