“Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.”
Dedication
I dedicate this book to my mother Jacqueline Jones, whose early courage and unwavering strength became the roots of my resilience; to my grandmother, lovingly known as Big Mama, and my grandfather, Big Papa, whose faith and love formed the foundation upon which my spirit rests; and to my husband Arlington W. Davis III, my steady rock, whose love and partnership have carried me through every challenge and triumph.
This biography is also a tribute to my three sons Arlington, Armani and Ari, whose smiles and journeys of BECOMING have filled me with life. Every day, they remind me why I started this journey: to make school and the world places where every child feels valued, seen, and capable of greatness.
I dedicate this biography to my family and ancestors, who loved me so much that I couldn’t help but love others. Each word on these pages resonates like their prayers and the institutional memories of their wisdom. Their faith in me has been the quiet force behind every class, every program, and every step of this lifelong mission.
“Love is the supreme unifying force in life.”
Phase 1: Roots of Love and Learning
When I close my eyes and think back to my earliest memories, I feel warm all over. I remember the laughter in my home, the smell of home-cooked soul food meals, and the sound of voices saying my name with love. My story doesn’t start with wealth; it starts with a legacy of strength, sacrifice, perseverance and endless love. As I mentioned before, my mother was only sixteen when she had me. She was a brave young girl who became a mother before her time. People may have thought our situation was weak, but I saw and felt strength that was beyond measure. She was determined that her age would not stop her from doing what she wanted. She chose to value education, hard work, respect and life instead.
I spent a great deal of my childhood with my grandparents, Big Mama and Big Papa, and my aunts and uncles, who all had an impact on who I became. This was because my mother was still in school. We lived like a close-knit drum circle, with each person adding their own polyrhythm of care, discipline, humor or love. My grandparents were the beats that kept everything together, and my mother was the tempo, soft but steady. They made my world a beautiful place to live, learn and love.
I was the first grandchild, and everyone focused their attention on me. My family put all of their hopes and dreams into me. One aunt would put me in her best sweaters and scarves and make me do little fashion shows in the living room. She would laugh and take pictures while she did it. Another aunt would teach me about her beloved sorority, Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority, Incorporated. The world’s oldest, international, distinguished Black sorority, one filled with women who value sisterhood, service, scholarship and who have impeccable style and grace. I would later become a member and remain a proud member today. My grandparents told me to sing and dance, and my uncles watched with pride. I learned what it meant to be valued through visibility, and I learned what it meant to be celebrated and poured into.
Those performances from when I was a kid weren’t just for fun. They were the first times I learned how to be confident and connect with others. I felt like I was being looked at when I stood in front of my family. They taught me how to use my voice and how to enjoy being in the spotlight for a reason, not for vanity. My Big Mama, who had a lot of faith and grace, used to tell me, “You were born for something bigger than yourself.” I didn’t get what she meant at the time, but her words stuck with me like a promise that would come true.
There was a mix of order and happiness in our home. Big Mama and Big Papa thought that discipline was a way to show love. We prayed, ate, and made lasting memories together. I was surrounded by routines that made me feel safe, but there was always a room for new ideas. Every act, from singing hymns on Sunday mornings to helping Big Mama make fried corn in the kitchen, taught me how to be patient, grateful, and compassionate. I now see that those experiences shaped how I would one day run my classroom: structured but loving, strict but full of joy. It reminds me of one of my favorite quotes, “Visualize the future and be inspired.”
“Teaching is the one profession that creates all other professions.”
Phase 2 : Becoming the Educator I Was Meant to Be
It seems like the path to becoming a teacher was already laid out for me before I even thought about it. My family taught me how to live in a way that was like a masterclass in teaching. It wasn’t through classrooms or curriculum. Still, moving from the safe, nurturing environment of home to the wider world of college was both exciting and scary.
I left home to go to the University of Wisconsin–Madison after high school. This school would change my life forever. I remember the first time I stepped onto campus. Autumn leaves covered the wide walkways, and the sounds of laughter and conversation emanated from the buildings. Ideas were buzzing all around me. At first, I felt small, like one face among forty-thousand, but I also felt determined. My family had given me a sense of confidence that stayed with me, even when I was far from home.
At first, I thought I would study music. Singing was always a part of me, like breathing. Since I was a child, the stage had been my safe place. I pictured a future full of music and performance. But one night, after a long day of classes, I called my mom while I was sitting at my small dorm desk. I recall informing her that I was uncertain whether music was truly the field I wished to pursue academically. She listened attentively, and then she uttered a statement that would alter my life: “You are exceptionally skilled with children and the elderly. You’ve always been excellent at caring. You might want to consider one of those paths.”
Those simple words turned into a compass. The following semester, I enrolled in an introductory course in education, and an immediate connection occurred. The first time I saw a classroom, I felt the same energy I used to feel on stage: a mix of excitement and purpose. This time, though, the audience was a group of curious kids with bright eyes. I gradually began to understand that teaching is a kind of performance with a deeper purpose. It wasn’t about getting people to clap; it was about awakening the genius in them. I learned that this was called “MAJESTY” in African Centered Education.
The more I learned about school, the more I realized that every lesson could be a seed planted in a young person’s mind. I wanted to be a part of that process by planting, watering, nurturing and watching my students blossom. I changed my major to Elementary Education, with certifications in grades K–8 and a minor in multicultural education. I was especially interested in reading and social sciences. Later, I worked hard to get my Master’s degree in Curriculum and Instruction so that I could understand more about how kids learn and how teachers could make learning more meaningful and empowering.
During my college years, I developed a critical perspective on culture and its representation. The campus was diverse, but I noticed that the curriculum didn’t always show that. A lot of the theories we learned about were based on points of view that didn’t include people who looked like me or came from communities like mine. It made me feel something. I started to ask questions that weren’t always easy: Where are our stories? Why isn’t what we’re learning a reflection of our culture?
“He who learns, teaches.”
Phase 3 : Building Bridges Through African- Centered Education
Every teacher has a vision of what education should be, not what it is. That vision has always been based on who I am, my culture, and my connections. Early in my career, I discovered that when students can identify with what they’re learning, a remarkable transformation occurs: their eyes brighten, their confidence increases, and their options expand.
It started as a whisper in my heart: the dream of creating a learning space centered on Africa. It grew stronger every time I stood in front of my students and saw how smart they were but how the system didn’t fully reflect them. For years, I had been in classrooms where kids of color had trouble seeing how beautiful they were. They learned about heroes who didn’t look like them, read books that didn’t tell their stories, and practiced lessons that didn’t have anything to do with their lives. I wanted to improve that.
My husband and I often talked about what it would mean to build a school where culture was the main focus, not an afterthought. We envisioned a school where learning was infused with the principles of MAAT: rhythm and musicality, truth, balance, reciprocity, harmony, order and justice. He agreed with me that education should set people free and help them heal. We started to dream bigger as a group. What if we could start a community program that would help kids strengthen both their academic and cultural identities? What if school felt like home?
We made that dream come true when we inherited the African American Ethnic Academy, an African-centered Saturday School for kids in pre-kindergarten through eighth grade. It was a labor of love that would last twelve years and touch the lives of over a hundred students and families.
At first, we only had faith and a vision. We had planning meetings in classrooms at the school that we taught at during the week. We were surrounded by notebooks, coffee cups, and the happy noise of our kids playing nearby. I started hiring teachers who shared my love of culturally relevant education—teachers who thought that learning was more than just academics; it was about shaping identities. My husband helped with all things logistics. I, along with our board, created community partnerships by getting in touch with local groups for help. At first, we didn’t have big grants or support from institutions, but we did have something stronger: the trust of the families and community.
Parents trusted us because they could see that we cared about what we were doing.
Families would come every Saturday morning, long before the sun came up. Kids ran into the building laughing, wearing bright colors, anticipating our morning breakfast and Harambee (Let’s Pull Together) time. There was a lot of energy and pride in the air. We started each session with what became our signature ritual: a call and response of affirmation. I would stand before the group and say, “Who are you?” And the children would all declare confidently, “I am somebody! I am capable and loveable, I am teachable therefore I can learn, I can do anything when I try, I’ll be the best that I can be, each day, each day each day! I will not waste time because it is too valuable and I am too precious and bright. I am somebody, I am somebody, I am somebody! Their voices were like music in the halls. It was more than just motivation; it was medicine.
Note of Thanks
As I finish this biography, I feel truly thankful. I thank God, the ultimate author of my story, for His never-ending grace and guidance through every part of my life. I will forever “live large with God in charge.” Thanks to my husband, whose love has been my rock, and my sons, who have been my greatest gifts and teachers, for always being there for me. Thank you to my grandchildren Akhai and Annavia who give me a glimpse into the future with hope.
I am deeply grateful to my family, friends, mentors, and coworkers for their unwavering belief in my vision, even when it was unclear how to achieve it. To all the students, educators, and community members, who have been with me on this journey, you are what keeps my work alive and meaningful.
This story doesn’t just belong to me; it belongs to everyone who had the courage to believe that education based on love and culture can make the world a better place. This work is a tribute to everyone who teaches, learns, and leads with a kind heart.
I am thankful for every challenge that shaped me, every lesson that made me stronger, and every person and experience that reminded me that I Am Somebody.
thanks,
– Dr. (H. C.) Andreal Davis