The Okra Project Is Feeding Their Black Trans Siblings, One Meal at a Time

Ianne Fields Stewart spent last winter hatching up ideas to help her community through the holidays. “I get to go home and that's a privilege,’” the New York-based actress and activist tells me. “Not all of my [Black trans] siblings get to find solace in family during this time.”

So a few days before Christmas, Stewart thought she would ask her friend, chef Meliq “Zaddy” August, to visit the homes of food insecure Black trans people in New York City and cook them a healthy meal at no cost. She took the idea to Nyla Sampson, the founder of the Black Trans Solidarity Fund, a reparations group that funnels resources toward Black trans folk, and asked if they could underwrite August’s house calls.

That initial concept became the core of the Okra Project, which aims to feed Black trans people in need by sending Black trans chefs to their homes to make a culturally specific meal. On the Wednesday before Christmas, Stewart announced the project and a call for donations on social media; by the following Friday, it had already raised over $6,000 — enough to feed about 66 home-cooked meals to food-insecure individuals. “Our anticipation was that we'd raise a thousand dollars at best,” Ianne tells me. “What we said from the beginning is, ‘I guess we're going to do this ‘till the wheels fall off.’”

Since then, the Okra Project has grown in leaps and bounds, with Stewart and Sampson leading the charge as co-facilitators. (August and other members of the team have moved on to “bigger and better things,” Stewart tells me, but all previously involved coordinators and chefs are acknowledged on the project’s website.) Within the first couple months, the organization extended the reach of their direct services from New York City to Philadelphia, and they’ve introduced a myriad of other initiatives. There’s the International Grocery Fund, which allows any Black trans person in the world to receive $40 to purchase food after filling out a simple form, as well as the Okra Academy, a workshop that teaches Black trans folks how to cook. The organization has also hosted a variety of health, wellness, and beauty events called #ByOkra, helmed by the Okra Project’s Community Coordinator Nala Simone Toussaint. “Healing comes through those events,” she tells me. “All folks across [different] lived experiences can come together to have a conversation about what Blackness and transness means to them, all while being fed.”

Okra Project makes it a point to serve Black trans and gender non-conforming people because they face disproporationately high rates of poverty, homelessness, sexual assault, and unemployment, compared to their white trans counterparts — leading to the increased likelihood of food insecurity. These rates are compounded when it comes to Black trans women in particular; 38% of Black transgender women experience homelessness and extreme poverty, compared to 9% of non-transgender Black women. “When you have these multiple identities that have been oppressed, you don't even get seen or heard,” Toussaint says. “What we are doing is making sure that [Black trans people] understand that they matter enough to have food in their stomach and to have a [decent] quality of life.”

These in-person services and gatherings are crucial to Okra Project’s mission, as the founders understand how connecting with others of the same marginalized identity can lead to affirmation, happiness, and healing. Stewart explains that at the outset of the project, she did briefly consider organizing a food drop-off system — sort of like Meals on Wheels — but it seemed too impersonal. “There are plenty of organizations and government systems that go, ‘Food. Take it,’” Stewart tells me, illustrating the sense of carelessness by punctuating her syllables with a flicking hand gesture. Instead, the Okra Project’s goal was to help Black trans people feel embraced and seen in a way that an EBT card couldn’t offer them. “They’re gaining another member of the community… They see another person that looks, loves, and lives like them, who comes into their home and says, ‘You’re important. Here’s a meal for you.’”

There’s an added sense of comfort and familiarity for the clients, because all meals served are specific to African diasporic cuisines. “We've had chefs who are Black Caribbean, West African, and Black American,” Sampson notes. “Food that people recognize from their own Black cultures hearkens to a place of home. When you are missing family, a plate of collard greens might make you think of those people.” The name, Okra Project, also nods to this idea; Toussaint tells me that their West African ancestors snuck the okra plant onto captive ships by braiding its seeds into their hair, and the vegetable is used in cooking traditions throughout the diaspora.

The Okra Project team is committed to keeping their events and services Black trans-specific, even if that means turning away non-Black and cis allies. “We want to make sure that Black trans folks are coming into a space that really is just them,” Sampson says, pointing out that she is often the only cis person in the room at Okra Project events. “I’m like, ‘It’s great that you want to volunteer, but it would be even better if you could just write that check.” Stewart adds: “We have everything that we need to take care of who we need to take care of. The only thing we don't have is money and resources. So it's very interesting to see how people, in their search for activism, want to get a slice of the pie and a piece of our souls. I think the reason for that is that Black transness is seen as a public commodity.”

So far, the Okra Project has been wholly funded by community donations, with all funds coming in through PayPal and their Patreon account. And though they’ve been intentionally operating as a not-for-profit, they’ve also veered away from officially registering as a non-profit organization. “You actually get to fill in the gaps in places that a nonprofit can't [fund], because they're restricted,” Toussaint says, pointing out that sometimes the Black Trans Solidarity Fund goes towards a for a number of vital and urgent needs, whether it’s hormones, bail, or transportation funds for a Black trans person. For the past couple months, they’ve paused direct services while they seek a fiscal sponsor from a “like-minded organization,” which would allow more flexibility in how they use their money.

As the Okra Project approaches its one year anniversary, the core team has a long list of new initiatives that they want to take on in their second year. Recently, they hired a full-time bartender, Jamari Thomas, in the hopes that they can start to help people who want to throw house parties or other nightlife events. And soon, they’ll be launching two different kinds of interfaith events called Faith By Okra — one for a mix of cis and trans folks and another specifically for Black trans folks. In January, they plan to resume direct services in New York City, though they have dreams of spreading their seeds to other cities in the U.S. “This is just our continued dedication to feeding people — not just through their mouth but through their soul,” Toussaint tells me with a glowing smile on her face.

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