Whether you think of culture in the United States as a “melting pot,” a “salad bowl,” a “mosaic,” or some other metaphor, it’s clear that the dominant artistic, culinary, and social norms of the United States are widely varied, and many can be traced back to distant lands and eras.
In Memphis, our music and food traditions are rooted in the cultures of indigenous peoples in this area, European settlers, and enslaved African people and their descendants.
University of Memphis professor Lindsey Stewart has successfully set out to chronicle and celebrate the multitudinous contributions of Black women in particular with her new book, The Conjuring of America: Mojos, Mermaids, Medicine, and 400 Years of Black Women’s Magic (Legacy Lit).
Stewart’s insightful work of historical and cultural exploration guides the reader through centuries of culture on the American continent, exploring a wide-ranging subject with surgical precision and focus. From the history of midwifery and herbalism to Fannie Lou Hamer, voodoo leader Marie Laveau, superstar performer Beyoncé’s 2017 Grammy performance, and Ryan Coogler’s 2025 box office record-breaking Sinners, Stewart guides the reader through a well-researched and gripping analysis of Black women’s spirituality in American culture.
Class Is in Session
PHOTOGRAPH BY DEMARRIS MANNS
Professor Lindsey Stewart
Stewart’s book grew out of a course she, a feminist philosopher, teaches at the University of Memphis called “Human and the Divine.”
“That course focuses on how race and gender and class affect how we think about, not just religion, but our faith, our spiritual practices,” she explains. “I always get students who are very much interested in the historical and social-political dimensions of church, especially Black church. I was definitely thinking about these students when I wrote this book.”
Stewart begins her class by discussing the influences of West African Yoruba culture and spiritual faith on Beyoncé’s 2016 album Lemonade and her performance at the following year’s Grammy ceremony.
“I take the students on a journey,” Stewart says. “We start with basic tenants of Western religion, especially Christianity, and then I take them to West Africa and think about other traditions that are very different from what they’re used to, like Yoruba and Congolese traditions. Then I take them back to the United States, particularly the South, and try to show them how the Christianity that they are familiar with in the South is very much influenced by some of these West African traditions that enslaved Africans brought with them and took into the Black church.”
Stewart takes a similar path throughout The Conjuring of America. Most chapters are focused on a specific idea — mermaid mythology, textile production and blue jeans, Aunt Jemima, or medical practices — and supported by extensive research and interviews. The massive endeavor is carried by Stewart’s infinitely readable tone, helping the reader to arrive at a deeper understanding of American culture and its origins in the prayers, kitchens, quilts, and looms of Black women.
Conjure Is Common History
“Before the media, the merchandise,” Stewart says, “Black women used magic to manage their luck and create a sense of safety in their communities.” In The Conjuring of America, the author examines the ways in which those traditions have morphed and changed over 400 years in the U.S., often while retaining their essence, a common culture that can be traced back to another continent and a time long before the signing of the Declaration of Independence.
“They’re all facets of this large tradition I’m calling ‘conjure,’ which combines West African traditions with local practices among the enslaved as a form of luck management,” Stewart explains. “One way to think of luck management is they were already in a really bad situation, so a lot of what they tried to do in their own time is figure out, ‘How do I minimize the damage? Or how do I make a really bad situation not be worse?’”
The practice of luck management evolved to protect its practitioners, who were usually older Black women living on the plantations, as well as other members of their community. Conjure was everything from medicine made from on-hand resources to more spiritual practices. It was a way of retaining a shared history, of doing the necessary work of fighting fevers and bringing new lives into the world, all presided over by Black women.
“They were the ones who were responsible for taking care of all of the sickness on the plantation. Because doctors were scarce, and what doctors were doing at that time, like leeching and blood-letting, wasn’t really helping,” Stewart says.
These women were skilled herbalists who could make a tea, salve, or bath to aid a patient with a fever, help them rest in a productive way, and recover more quickly. Then and on into the eras of Reconstruction and Jim Crow, they were advocates for reproductive rights of women, as well as for women patients.
“Because of racism in the medical industry, a lot of Black women who get pregnant and go into the hospital to deliver have all sorts of problems,” Stewart says. The “Granny Midwives,” as Stewart calls these women, brought many babies into the world, and by their very presence alongside Black patients in the systems of the medical profession, helped to advocate for patients, even if a white doctor was nominally in charge of procedures. As Stewart points out, however, anti-Black racism eventually pushed Granny Midwives out of the system, and before that, meant that they were forced to play a dangerous game to ensure that they were allowed to treat their patients.
“One thing that I hope people take away from the book is that no matter how dire the situation is, it’s always possible to drum up power in unexpected places.” — Lindsey Stewart
The Black midwives kept a state-approved medical bag, as well as a secret bag with their traditional implements. “During home call deliveries, where there usually was not a state official or medical personnel present, they brought the state’s bag, but they also packed the second, secret bag with them,” writes Stewart. “In these bags were secret tools of conjure: roots and herbs for teas to bring on contractions, castor oil or Vaseline for perineum massages, knotted strings or red rags for women who had a history of miscarriages, even coins tied into the corners of a handkerchief, which called upon the spirit of the crossroads to help them guide a new life into existence.”
This example illustrates the breadth of knowledge these women would draw on, as well as the ways their traditions have continued into the present day, even if sometimes in the form of myths.
Mermaids, Myths, and Magic
Stewart also explores the myths and spiritual traditions that informed 2023’s live remake of The Little Mermaid and the backlash of casting a Black woman as Ariel, noting that even Hans Christian Andersen’s 1837 fairy tale drew on mythology of African water goddesses. It’s true that there’s a long tradition of mermaid imagery in European lore, not to mention Greek sirens. But in showing how African religious traditions influenced mermaid folklore, Stewart illustrates that “a lot of our myths are still alive,” she says.
Indeed, as evidenced by the 2020 short story collection Trouble the Waters: Tales From the Deep Blue, co-edited by Pan Morigan and Memphians Sheree Renée Thomas and Troy L. Wiggins, African water deities and traditions still resonate in popular culture.
To anyone unaware of a history that was often violently repressed and denied by mainstream forces in the U.S., much of what is considered simply Southern or American culture is just that. Stewart illustrates that those beliefs often have roots in conjure and African traditions that were forcefully imported to these shores.
The traditional Southern meal of black-eyed peas, collard greens, and cornbread at the beginning of the new year “is a conjure tradition that started during slavery and it is all about managing luck,” Stewart says, casting light on a tradition common to so many tables in the U.S.
“The place where conjure has shown up most in my life is in the kitchen,” she writes, before discussing the traditional New Year’s Day meal, as well as the spicy dish known as Hoppin’ John. Some pages later, the author explains the reasoning behind the meal, “The black-eyed pea was considered a favorite food offering for certain orishas like Oshun, Yemaya, and Oya. All of these orishas were thought to bring wealth, fertility, and good fortune to those who worship them.”
Exploring everything from the threads of our blue jeans to the origins of our daily meals, The Conjuring of America is a revelation, adding context and depth to Americans’ cultural identities.
“One thing that I hope people take away from the book,” Stewart says, “is that no matter how dire the situation is, it’s always possible to drum up power in unexpected places.”
