How to Say Babylon: A Memoir

by Safiya Sinclair

While my father molded our view of the wicked world and its hidden history, my mother shaped our love of learning and our sense of wonder. While he warned us of Babylon, she showed us Zion.

When I left for Kingston, I knew he was displeased, but he had carved out no other plan for me beyond escaping teenage pregnancy in high school—so I could either seize whatever opportunity arose or I could work in the hotels, an idea he rejected so vehemently that I was sure he must have known, and known intimately, what young, working Jamaican women did to survive in hotels, at the source of Babylon.

finally feel ready to write our story. I am now in my Jesus year, and twelve years older than my mother when she received the news of her miracle pregnancy and decided to follow the path of Rastafari.

Dad, thank you for instilling this steadfast rebel in me (even when you didn’t like her very much). Her fire is your enduring gift to me. Thank you for the wildfire of your song. The way has been rocky, but I hope we keep working on it.

HEAVY 🥲