Attending a Black Boarding School Changed the Course of My Life. They Need to Be Preserved.

After I got kicked out of Westchester High School in Los Angeles in 10th grade, my dad didn't ask me if I wanted to go to the Piney Woods School. Before I knew it, my bags were packed for me and I was on a plane to Mississippi.

When I first arrived, I was overwhelmed by the amount of trees on Highway 49 South. They towered over me, creating a tunnel that seemed like there was only one way in and no way out. Prior to learning about the Piney Woods School, Mississippi merely existed in my head as a mythical place where bad things happened a long time ago.

Though I was skeptical on that bus ride, I'd soon learn that Piney Woods was a brilliant light beaming through the darkness of the state. Sitting on 2,000 acres that included a 500-acre farm, seven lakes, and more than a dozen residences for staff and students at the time I attended, the Piney Woods School is a historically Black prep school for grades nine to 12 where about 200 students live, learn, and grow together. It exists because, in 1909, Dr. Lawrence C. Jones risked his life to educate the illiterate in Mississippi. Through the years, Piney Woods transformed into a space that not only taught students how to read, but also instilled practical skills like carpentry, cultivating crops, and music theory. And, like other historically Black boarding schools — there are four in total in America today — it has given Black students a sense of family.

My father, a Pan Africanist and Black Panther militant, wanted Piney Woods to get my head right and teach me how to be a productive scholar. Our tiny class numbers and strict silent study hours from 6 to 9 p.m. drew him in. If my dad didn't make that sacrifice to send me to Piney Woods, I don't think I would have graduated on time in 2017 or have received a full-ride scholarship to the University of Mississippi. If Piney Woods didn't exist, I'd be a street hustler like my childhood friends back home in South Central LA, or maybe living with my family in Senegal, where my parents also threatened to send me.

Sloan Baptiste started working at the Marcus Garvey School, a historically Black private school in Los Angeles, for similar reasons: he saw the value of Black children being taught by Black educators. "We are allowing people who have a history of being systematically racist to teach us, and it crushes the self-esteem of the student," he says of US public schools.

Kierre Barnett Sr., similarly, is a product of the public-school system, having worked in the Los Angeles Unified School District. After witnessing teachers and parents' lack of commitment to students, he did not want the same for his son, Kierre Barnett Jr., who's now a sixth-grader at the Marcus Garvey School. He says his son is "living on good time because we're in a controlled environment, and that's with the help of Marcus Garvey."

In addition to upholding the highest standards of academic performance, these autonomous educational and cultural institutions nurture our emotional and physical changes. In my case, the South taught me how to love my natural phenotype. During my first few weekends at Piney Woods, I remember the girls in my dorm asked me if my hair was natural. I stood up there with my press and curl and answered, "Yes." One girl said, "Girl, you are not natural because your hair has heat in it. That's not natural." To me, "natural" meant perm or no perm, not straight versus kinks.

The girls taught me about Bantu knots, two-strand twists, and the loc method. It was the first time in my life that I saw so many girls wearing natural hair textures proudly. It wasn't an act of pride; it was just normal. When I went home to Los Angeles that summer, I kept my fro and it didn't feel strange. It felt natural.

At Piney Woods, discipline began in our hands — our concentration was narrowed with lengthy academic and work days and unique punishments to maintain order. Yannick Lowery, a 2004 Piney Woods School graduate and artist, remembers being sent home for sneaking into a girls' dorm as a sophomore. He had to make the choice of getting paddled or sent home. Contrary to common beliefs about boarding schools, Piney Woods was not the place for misbehaving children. After spending six months at a public school in Chicago, he was determined to get back. Lowery felt disoriented in Chicago, and missed his campus family and the Kappa League brotherhood.

As Lowery recalls, most students had a job — he worked in the historic Mary Mac dorm and the laundromat, while I was a student ambassador and an administrative assistant to the president's office (one of the "good" jobs). We had to say "yes ma'am" and "sir," or we'd get written up. Respect and manners were a big part of the Piney Woods standard that I carry with me to this day. Some people laugh at me and think I've spent too much time in Mississippi. But I got my first job at 16 because when I unintentionally said "yes ma'am" to a lady, she was so impressed that she offered me the job on the spot.

Piney Woods taught me about Jesus, how to network, how to live amongst other girls, and how to speak in front of a public audience. Feeling deeply that the school had changed my life, I could never understand why it wasn't famous like Howard University. There were always whispers about the possibility of Piney Woods shutting down due to lack of teachers, lack of funding, and the fact that the buildings were deteriorating. It's amazing what they were able to shake from the little resources we had.

For children whose parents are unable to be fully present due to illness, financial hardship, or incarceration, the survival of these boarding schools is vital. My family initially sent me to Piney Woods to set my behavior straight. But when my daddy passed away and my blind mother became solely responsible for raising my younger brother, she also sent him to Piney Woods so he could be raised with other boys and by men who could teach him work ethic and how to be a man. I intend on sending my 5-year-old daughter to Piney Woods to continue the tradition and I pray that it still exists when the time comes.

These days, I struggle in the real world because Nashville, TN, where I currently reside, does not reflect the sheltered realities of the place where I was allowed to build and maintain my dignity. But I dream of a future world similar to Piney Woods, where we have slow mornings to hold hands and sing our gratitude to the Divine Creator of all things; where we share resources with our neighbors in need like we did in the dorms; where we learn from each other's backgrounds instead of it being the thing that separates us.

Nabou Ramu, born Seynabou Clark, is an Afrocentric journalist who covers all things art, culture, and business. In addition to PS, her words are recorded in Essence GU, KBLA Talk 1580, the USA Today Network, and Blavity.