New Orleans is more than a city; it’s a heartbeat, a melody, a force of nature that draws you in and never lets go. Folks from far and wide speak of it with a mix of wonder and longing. “Oh, New Orleans! I just love New Orleans! I have to visit someday!” they say, their words tinged with a kind of secondhand nostalgia. I’ve heard it enough times to just smile and nod. Then there are those who visit and, like magic, find themselves so captivated they decide to stay. New Orleans has that effect on people. And truth be told, I understand. When I’m away too long, even the sound of the name—New Orleans—brings a comfort to my soul, like a lullaby from home. It’s not just a place; it’s a feeling that pulls you back, no matter how far you’ve wandered.
Living here without the physical presence of my family has shown me how much this city itself becomes family. It’s not just the streets or the music; it’s the people who fill them. Back in the day, families were interconnected networks, woven tight like beads on a Mardi Gras strand. Aunties, uncles, cousins—some so distant you only recognized them when someone leaned over to say, “That’s your cousin.” Even now, those who stay or return do so because of those enduring connections—the unshakable bonds of kinship and friendship that define life here. Those ties create a network of belonging that turns strangers into family and neighbors into confidants.
And let’s talk about how we say the name. While our accents often clip and bend words, “New Orleans” is sacred. You might hear “Nawlins” or “New Orlenz,” but hardly ever “NOLA.” That abbreviation, to many of us, feels sterile, stripped of the weight and rhythm the name deserves. To say “New Orleans” is to honor its spirit, its history, and the generations who built it with their hands, their sweat, and their dreams. It’s not just a name; it’s an invocation of something larger than ourselves.
That spirit is alive in people like Lil Wayne, whose very essence reflects the city’s defiance and creativity. So when the Super Bowl halftime show—held in his own hometown—failed to feature him, it felt like a slap not just to him but to all of us who take pride in our culture. As reported by AP News, Lil Wayne expressed his heartbreak, stating, “It broke my heart… I felt like I was the perfect choice to represent the city.” Decisions like these feel dismissive of the city’s cultural contributions, especially considering the global impact of its music and artistry. For many New Orleanians, the decision was emblematic of how frequently our culture is celebrated but our people are sidelined (AP News).
The same goes for Essence Fest, a cornerstone of Black culture and celebration. Over the years, it’s had its share of controversy for not including local talent. Juvenile’s public callout of Essence for leaving him and the Hot Boyz out of their 50 Years of Hip-Hop celebration struck a nerve. “How come the hometown heroes ain’t on the bill?” he asked, sparking a broader conversation about the exclusion of New Orleans artists. His challenge led to change; Essence Fest has since committed to including him in its annual programming, but the incident remains a telling example of the city’s artists being overlooked in events that profit from the culture they’ve created (BET).
Mardi Gras, one of the most iconic celebrations in the world, tells a similar story of inclusion and exclusion. For years, the Black Masking Indians—commonly known as Mardi Gras Indians—hosted their own celebrations under the Claiborne Bridge, a space they carved out after being excluded from the city’s mainstream festivities. These intricate and deeply spiritual celebrations showcase hand-sewn suits adorned with feathers and beads, each a work of art and a tribute to their ancestors. Meanwhile, the Zulu Social Aid and Pleasure Club, the first Black krewe to participate in Mardi Gras, had to fight for its place in the parade. Even today, Zulu rolls early in the morning, a subtle reminder of the barriers they once faced. Despite these challenges, these groups have become central to the Mardi Gras tradition, embodying the resilience and creativity of New Orleans’ Black community.
But let’s not mince words: this kind of oversight happens all too often. Out-of-town promoters and corporations flock to New Orleans, eager to cash in on its magic. They host festivals, conventions, and parties, and while the profits flow, the benefits rarely trickle down to the people who make it all possible. The waitstaff who serve those extravagant meals, the housekeepers who prepare those lavish hotel rooms, and the street performers who provide the soundtrack to every visitor’s experience—these are the people who sustain the soul of New Orleans. Yet they are often the last to be thanked and the least to be paid. They toil in an industry that thrives on their labor but rarely rewards it. The wages they earn barely reflect the value they bring, leaving them among the city’s poorest, even as they uphold its reputation for hospitality and charm.
And yet, they stay. They stay because New Orleans is home in a way that defies logic. The people here pour their hearts, souls, and bodies into this place. They keep the traditions alive—from second lines to jazz funerals—even when the world seems determined to forget them. Their resilience is nothing short of extraordinary. They are the cultural bearers who preserve the music, food, and stories that make New Orleans unforgettable. They are the ones who teach their children the songs, the dances, and the recipes, ensuring that the spirit of the city is passed down to future generations.
The Black community, in particular, has been the backbone of New Orleans since its inception. From the rhythms of Congo Square to the culinary brilliance of Creole cuisine, from the dazzling artistry of Mardi Gras Indians to the bounce beats that shake the walls of clubs, Black New Orleanians have shaped this city in ways that resonate far beyond its borders. Even in the face of hurricanes, systemic inequities, and cultural appropriation, they continue to rise, their love for New Orleans as unshakable as the oak trees in City Park. Their contributions are immeasurable, yet they remain some of the most marginalized.
New Orleans is not just a place; it’s an experience, a love affair, a testament to the human spirit. To know it is to carry it with you, whether you’re strolling down a cobblestone street or dreaming of home from far away. For those of us blessed to call it home, New Orleans is everything. And we’ll fight for her, love her, and keep her alive—because she’s worth it. Every second line, every bowl of gumbo, every note of jazz is proof of that truth.
Here are the source links referenced in the article:
AP News on Lil Wayne’s Super Bowl Halftime Show Exclusion:
Lil Wayne Expresses Heartbreak Over Super Bowl Halftime Snub
BET on Juvenile and Essence Fest:
Juvenile Calls Out Essence Fest for Excluding Hometown Heroes
Dat NOLA Chic 