Paying my respects to a man that is owed much: My encounter with the home and resting place of William E. Burghardt DuBois

The hollow halls of his home brought a chill of humility and hunger to my bones. Humility from the fact that I had spent many years admiring him and hunger from the fact that I had been bracing for this experience ever since the ink dried on the Plane ticket here (Ghana). W.E.B. DuBois’ home was the final destination and if I did nothing else in this country, I can honestly confess that I was thoroughly satiated in my visit.

For those who don’t know this great activist, he was a graduate at Harvard, for law (and I believe sociology). He spear headed the N.A.A.C.P, considered to be one of the most influential organizations during the Civil Rights Movement. DuBois is also known for his literary gems, such as: “Souls of Black Folks” and “The Philadelphia Negro.” And he taught and sat on the board of many Universities, namely Clark Atlanta and Fisk. After a long life of activism, DuBois then traveled here to Ghana to help do research for the Black Encyclopedia, under the Nkrumah Administration. At the tender age of 93, he went to Ghana, never to return to the United States. He died in Accra at age 95. It can be argued that he was the greatest public intellectual in world history, and I wouldn’t disagree with such an argument.

Though he is gone from us, I believe that his spirit is still in that house. His house today has been modified into a museum for Pan-Africanist research. It is well known that DuBois dedicated most his life to reaching Africans on the continent and in the Diaspora. (Fact about it, he organized and hosted the four Pan-Africanist Congresses throughout the 1920’s to 1940’s.) In his living room, there is now nothing but a sprawl of rare books and pictures. Pictures of him at his last birthday bash, pictures of him sharing smiles with his wife and friends, pictures of him breaking bread with Ghanaian liberator, Kwame Nkrumah. The floors were lined wall to wall with red carpet, giving a regal touch to the living room. I still couldn’t believe I was in W.E.B. DuBois’ house!

Anyway, in true spirit of this great man, a public library was installed into what used to be his dining room. It was kind of apropos to see that the place DuBois went to fill his belly, the youth now used to feed their intellects. His kitchen had also been modified into an art gallery, where paintings from local kids went up, paying homage to both he and Nkrumah, Ghana’s first president. Ok readers, I’m telling you now, please go and tell MTV to do “Cribs” in this place. It’s the bomb! Laced with murals and other pieces of art, the place was filled with color and life.

His personal library was twice as immaculate. With mold growing on the books, I saw the actual literary works that DuBois read, researched, wrote, and touched. I was in awe at how many books he had and how many I actually recognized. I saw the book “Up from Slavery” by B.T. Washington, the philosophical opponent of DuBois during the early 20th century, in the cabinet among the collection. I began to smile because I knew the genius of DuBois was the ability to study his opponents. The shelves were tall and wide and I completely felt like living in that room for the rest of my life (but of course I couldn’t, I’d probably starve.)

His master bedroom had been turned into a sprawling display of what I’d like to call, “DuBois’ Scholastic Magic.” Catchy right? Behind sparkling glass cabinets, mannequins held up each of the robes DuBois once wore from all the Universities he attended and taught at: Clark Atlanta, Harvard, Fisk, the University of Ghana, from honorary doctrines to diplomas. To see a Black man attain such glory, such accolades for exercising the human mind is a concept that I could never begin to explain my dear readers, and I bet it is something many Blacks can never come to explain. I mean here I am, trying to find my intellectual heart here in the bowels of West Africa. Not knowing yet who I fully am, standing in the room of a man who found his true home only two years before his death. I cannot begin to explain the connections. It’s simply a powerful feeling.

In traditional African religion the ancestors of a person are believed to never die fully because their spirit continues to live on. I believe this same principle applies for DuBois. When I walked into his burial chamber and saw his beautifully decorated casket, I began to think of all the ways DuBois has influenced and possessed our public intellectuals today. Doc Cornell West, Michael Eric Dyson, Skip Gates Na’im Akbar, Eddie Glaude are all are the living proof of that spirit. I remember feeling that DuBois’ spirit was in that chamber with me, messaging my shoulders, like the way the trainers do their boxers before the next round. Before I left he whispered to me, “go in there and give em’ hell Miles.” I walked out of the W.E.B. DuBois center with the intentions of doing just that. Watch out American society, ‘cause here I come!