I should have known Mississippi would change me when the world collapsed behind me as I approached Cleveland, Miss. The further I drove, the more it felt like I was being pulled into something bigger than myself. I had never been that far south, to places where people and stores were so sparse, but stories were abundant. For two months, I would call the Mississippi Delta home.
Coming from Charlotte, N.C., I carried the weight of my own assumptions. As a young Black woman, I couldn’t help but think of all the painful history tied to Mississippi. This land was the backdrop of some of the worst atrocities against my people, but it is also rich with positive history and culture that often goes underrepresented. I was going to Mississippi to do exactly that: to help represent. I didn’t yet realize how much of its story would become part of mine.
Despite my fears, Mississippi hugged me when I got there. I arrived as an intern for the Delta Center for Cultural Exploration, working with the Mississippi Delta Cultural Heritage Ambassadors—a group of remarkable community leaders dedicated to sharing the story of their home. The staff there worked diligently to make sure that we understood what we were walking into.
Yes, I experienced culture shocks, but I also experienced something I hadn’t expected: belonging.
The Delta Center partnered with the Walton Family Foundation on the Delta Narratives initiative—which I had the opportunity to co-lead during my time there. The Delta Narratives project was curated to tell the story of the ambassadors program, which trains local community members to represent their stories authentically. My job was to work under the Delta Center staff and the Ambassadors to document that process.
As part of the experience, we were given incredibly intimate access to the Delta culture. There is a wealth of underappreciated brilliance in the area. The ambassadors weren’t just storytellers; they were griots, artists and historians. Each one had a different way of seeing the world, and—together—they helped me see it more clearly.
I got close to one ambassador in particular, Mary Ann Mackey. We bonded over shared experiences, over what it feels like to move through spaces where you don’t quite belong. She told me how she felt like an outsider at times, something I could relate to as someone who grew up in many white spaces.
Then there was the food.
Everywhere I went, the food was as flavorful and rich as the culture I was being brought into. Eating at Indianola’s Club Ebony encapsulated this for me. One bite transported me back to my grandmother’s kitchen, to Sunday dinners filled with warmth and laughter. It was a plate that tasted like home.
As I ate, I took in the photos on the walls—snapshots of the legends who had once filled the space with music and laughter. It was a legendary and storied location for Black musicians in the South. At one time, it was the only place in the city that served Black patrons. At another, the legendary B.B. King owned it himself. Because of their connection to Mississippi, as well as their training with the Delta Center, the ambassadors were able to clarify all of this history for me as I ate.
This immersion in Mississippian culture shaped me into a different person. It allowed me to see another version of Jessica. While that may sound daunting, it truly was a gift. In turn, I was able to give something back to the ambassadors.
The ambassadors were on their own journey—not to discover something new, but to rediscover the depth of what they already knew. I had the honor of capturing those moments, of documenting their stories in a way that made them feel seen.
Presenting the ambassadors with the reflection of their stories through the lens of documentary storytelling was the most fulfilling part of the entire experience.
Watching the ambassadors see themselves on film, watching their faces soften with pride, watching their tears fall as they saw their lives, their struggles, their beauty reflected back at them—that was everything.
That was why I had come.
After eight weeks, I left Mississippi and the Delta version of myself behind and returned to city life—all that it had to offer and all that it didn’t.
In many ways, Mississippi still has not left me. Parts of me are still there—still sitting at Club Ebony, still laughing with Mary Ann Mackey, still capturing stories that deserve to be told.
And because of that, I carry Mississippi with me everywhere I go.
This MFP Voices opinion essay does not necessarily represent the views of the Mississippi Free Press, its staff or board members. To submit an opinion for the MFP Voices section, send up to 1,200 words and sources fact-checking the included information to voices@mississippifreepress.org. We welcome a wide variety of viewpoints.
