Practicing Anthropology in the Urban Delta
When I was growing up in the 1950s in one of the poorest neighborhoods in the urban Delta, the closest I came to an anthropologist was the man who dug the dump site near our home looking for old scrap iron to sell. Certainly there was no expectation for me to become an anthropologist from my grandmother, the matriarch of our family. However, she had moved to the city after the death of her husband with expectations of a better life for her four girls. Stressing education as "the way out," she told stories about her slave uncle who recognized the value of education and learned to read from two young girls he drove to school. In turn, he taught this daily lesson to his family around the fire each night. The many evenings sitting on our front porch, and on the front porch of neighbors, watching and listening to grandma's stories and the stories of others, set a foundation for anthropology in my life and led to my becoming a medical anthropologist.