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     There are a great many stories which need to be told about the women
in Ovett, Mississippi: Brenda and Wanda Henson.  Each has a life story of
courage and inspiration, battling former husbands and family for their
children, escaping abusive marriages, finding themselves and each other in
Mississippi ten years ago, beginning a life together dedicated to helping
any and all persons in need, battling for civil rights both at home and
abroad.  The list goes on.  This is the story of my encounter with the Hensons.
     Currently the Hensons are focused on getting Camp Sister Spirit, Inc.
up and running.  Seven months ago they bought 120 acres of Mississippi
woodland outside Hattiesburg to found a retreat dedicated to providing safe
space for women to come learn about themselves and each other.  They intend
the acreage to be used to battle all forms of oppression through education.
     In November of 1993 some of the local people began a cruel campaign
of terroristic threatening activity to remove the Hensons from the community.
Why?  Because the work they propose to do threatens the southern racist
patriarchal way of life endemic to Mississippi and the rest of the South.
The community folk claim that because the Hensons are a lesbian couple, the
women and children of the community are not safe.  But when faced with life
altering change, aren't the lives and purity of women and children always
held as precious justification for assault, murder and mayhem?  After all,
the weak women and children must be protected from any changes which might
actually improve their lives.
     Upon learning of the activities going on, the armed "hunters" found
trespassing on the Henson's land, the life-threatening phone calls, the bus
loads of children driven by the property on their way to school and
encouraged to jeer and taunt the hatreds of their elders, the numerous
property signs torn down and destroyed, and other ugly acts and crimes, I felt
compelled to do what I could to assist these women in this true life and
death struggle.
     January 3rd, 1994.  I drove from Lexington, KY to Camp Sister Spirit,
20 miles outside Ellisville, Mississippi.  I had intended to attend a "town
meeting" planned for January 4th, but when I called that morning and spoke
with Wanda, I learned it had been rescheduled for that evening.  I expected
the drive to take at least ten hours, not counting time for stops.  I wasn't
certain I'd arrive on time, but I'd try.
     I drove into Ellisville at 8:30 central time (9:30 Lexington time).  The
meeting had begun at 7 pm.  As I drove by the town hall I saw 5 or 6 police
cars parked and 2 cruising the streets.  A few people were milling about.  I
was alone in a car with a Kentucky license plate: I drove on by.
     On the south end of town I stopped at a gas station to call the Hensons.
Wanda had told me that morning to call when I got to Ellisville as the entry
gate to the property would be locked and they had been escorting all visitors
on and off the grounds.  She gave me directions one more time and I set off
on the final 20 mile leg of my journey.  Even though it was pitch dark I
was feeling conspicuous in my aquamarine Toyota Paseo.  Most all the vehicles
I had seen in town were older model beat-up American cars and trucks.  I
drove slowly to watch for the turns.  About 8 miles out of town a fast
moving car came up from behind.  I slowed to about 40 mph to allow it to
pass.  It didn't.  Rather, it got right up on my rear and stayed there for
about three miles, no matter what my speed.  When it finally passed I started
to feel some relief until I realized it was staying about three quarters
of a mile ahead of me; maybe watching, maybe not.  I was feeling the paranoia
of entering a war zone and being identified as the enemy.
     I found the first turn, then the second without seeing any other traffic.
I was moving very slowly to watch for the gate when I saw the headlights and
a white gravel drive: I had arrived and there were my escorts.  One of the
women jumped out of the truck: "Kentucky?"  "Yeah, I'm Sarah." "Drive on in.
We'll close the gate and follow."
     I was on a one-lane gravel path, about a half-mile long.  It had been
raining for several days in Mississippi and the red mud was deep.  I saw
another truck prominently parked at what appeared to be a lookout point, but
learned later it was simply stuck in the mud.  I drove on up to the two main
buildings and parked near 8-10 other cars and several campers.  My escorts
introduced themeselves and took me "inside."
     There are two buildings under construction/renovation.  The kitchen area
of the main building has a dirt floor, two walls of plastic sheeting, a
third of plywood, while the fourth is open.  A wood stove made not long before
from a 50 gallon drum stands in the entry where 12 women were crowded around
trying to stay warm.  There is no other heat source here.  Some were college
students from Hattiesburg, some friends of the Hensons, some members of the
New Orleans chapter of the Lesbian Avengers.  All were there to protect, help
and support Camp Sister Spirit.  I was introduced to Brenda, then Wanda, then
"everyone else."
     First I had to call Alex back in Kentucky to let her know I'd arrived
safely.  Then these various women asked about my drive (12 hours) and why I
had come all the way from Kentucky (how could I not?).  One student from
California asked "Is Kentucky part of the South?"  Others asked "Isn't
Kentucky a lot more progressive than here?"  What could I say to that?
     There were several other women who had arrived just that day, so Wanda
got up and directed us to please sign the release forms their lawyer was
insistant about.  Essentially I was indicating in writing that I knew where
I was and willingly had entered a potentially dangerous situation.  Then
Wanda told us about some of the most recent events (the last death threat
had come on Christmas Eve) and talked about safety (walk in groups at all
times) and self-defense (if you have a gun keep it hidden.  Pull it out only
if you intend to use it immediately.)  This is a war zone.
     Later on others arrived who had attended the town meeting.  They described
it as a cross between a revival and preparation for a lynching.  The townsfolk
had been unable thus far to find any legal means of removing the Hensons from
their property; they were angy and stymied.  They called for a defense fund
to be established to prepare for legal battle with the Hensons.  The county
sheriff (an elected official sworn to protect all citizens) assisted in
passing the hat.  Someone put in a hundred dollar bill: "hallelujah, praise
the lord, amen."  The 11 pm news had a brief report and video clip from
the meeting.  A news crew from ABC's 20/20 was there and would be coming
to the camp the following day to interview the Hensons.
     Wanda, Brenda, and several other women went to bed.  The rest stayed
up, some all night, to stand guard.  They spoke in low tones and with great
tension, fully expecting something to happen.  The dog barked a few times
and several women walked out a short ways to check each time.  Around 1 am
I finally got my gear from the car and prepared for bed.  The sleeping
area was upstairs: a half-finished room with plastic sheeting hung to
divide it kept the warmth in.  Bare mattresses with blankets and sleeping
bags were strewn about the floor.  I took one that appeared unclaimed.  Then
I had to go out to the other building for bathroom preparations: no running
water yet in the main facility.  Back in the sleeping room a couple of women
snuggled under four or five blankets stirred and began asking questions, so
I sat on their mattresses and talked a long time.  They had met on a previous
visit to the camp and had since been dating: new love arising out of age
old hatreds.
     I finally crawled into my sleeping bag (many thanks to Alex who reminded
me to take it!) and pulled an extra blanket across.  Surprisingly enough, I
fell asleep rather quickly.  Tense as I was, it had been an exhausting day
and I was drained both physically and emotionally.
    The next morning I awoke to the sounds of people milling about below me.
I made my way to the bathroom through a crowd of new people: photographers,
reporters, crews from various tv stations.  The media had been arriving
nearly every morning sinch the Oprah show two weeks before.  A few women
were putting up walls and electrical lines, but many (including me) were
wandering the grounds, waiting for something to happen.  This day Lynn Sherr
from 20/20 would arrive to interview Brenda and Wanda, and the crew was
there early to set up and prepare the camp in what they thought would be
a more realistic setting.
     I grabbed some coffee and went to my car where I had left an open box
of granola bars.  With the media filling the kitchen there was no way to
prepare breakfast, or lunch, for the women present that day.
     After awhile a phone call came: Lynn Sherr was on her way and someone
needed to meet her car at the gate.  Kelly, a student from SMU-Hattiesburg,
and I drove down to wait.  He filled me in on some more of the local
news articles, tv stories, and letters to the editor.  Most, though not all,
are sympathetic with the towns folk, not the Hensons.
     The 20/20 interview began.  We had to remain quiet and out of the way
most of the time, but couldn't help breaking out into wild cheers and
applause at each break.  The Hensons are warm, genuine, brave, and angry,
and they are not going anywhere.  I've never been more proud to be a
lesbian than while I sat there listening as they told their stories and
proclaimed their rights as Americans and human beings.  The gate and many
of the trees at the entry are painted lavender.  One question came:
"Why paint everything *lavender*?"  Brenda replied, "They have torn down
and stolen every sign we've put up.  Women who need us don't know how
to find us.  I'll paint every tree on this hill, every rock, every bush;
I'll paint the dog if that's what it takes to let people know we're here!"
     The interview went on.  Brenda's daughter, a human rights activist
with her own set of enemies in Mississippi, was interviewed.  Wanda's son
was shown splitting wood.  Another woman running various power tools.
Different locations, walking the property, looking over the wooded hills.
Other reporters were doing their own interviews.  Finally the big one was
over and the crew packed up to go to the next location to interview neighbors
down the road.  Adrienne, the cook, was finally able to prepare an evening
meal: fried chicken, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green beens.  Standard
southern fare, but was it delicious!
     I'd told Alex the night before I'd call again at 7 pm.  The local news
came on; yet another story.  "Hey, Sarah!  You're on tv!"  It was getting
dark, people were leaving, a few new folk arrived.  Kim and I washed the
dishes from our evening meal.  Finally!  I felt useful!  We all settled in
front of the stove for another evening of talking and standing guard.
Someone brought out a book of lesbian essays and poetry and a few of us
took turns reading aloud.  More discussions about civil rights, and anger,
and fear.  The Hensons were in the office working on press releases.  There
was also lighter talk of good bars and restaurants in New Orleans, invitations
to come back to visit, suggestions to start a Lesbian Avengers chapter in
Lexington.
     I went to bed at 11 that night since I was returning to Kentucky the
following day and needed a good night's sleep.
     Wednesday morning.  I awoke early, no one else was up.  The sun was
shining, the birds singing.  It was quiet and peaceful and beautiful: just
the atmosphere the Hensons intend Camp Sister Spirit to have always.  I was
profoundly moved by this bittersweet moment of what ought to be.  I wandered
the area, getting last photographs, not wanting to leave, feeling a need and
desire to do more than simply witness their work.  Cheri, the third permanent
resident of the camp, invited me into the Henson's trailer for coffee and
to say goodbye.  They were all hustling around, preparing for another day.
A local radio talk show was having a call-in regarding the Sister Spirit
"situation."  Wanda was looking for the phone number so she could call
shortly.  I lingered, watching and listening, but finally had to go.  I tried
to tune in the radio station in my car, but couldn't find it.  I stopped in
Ellisville to call Alex one more time to let her know I was still alive and
on my way home.

     Brenda and Wanda Henson truly are the two bravest people I have ever met.
They have absolute confidence that they will succeed, and total trust that
the queer community will rally and come to their aid.  And this we MUST do.
Because of the on-going battle and subsequent media blitz, the Hensons are
far behind in their planning to get the camp up and running.  They need help
of all kinds.  Anyone with a few days time and the least bit of skill in
carpentry, plumbing, fencing, electical, mechanics, or anything else, call
them and go.  If you can't go, send money, even if it's just a dollar.  If
you can't send a dollar, send a card expressing your pride and support for
their work.
     We are at war, folks.  The battle lines are being drawn as you read this.
People have already died elsewhere, and some of the people I met in Mississippi
last week may die next.  It is time to stand up and fight.

If you want to help the Hensons, call or write at the following:

Brenda and Wanda Henson   (601) 344-1411
Camp Sister Spirit, Inc.
P.O. Box 12
Ovett, Mississippi  39464

The 20/20 interview likely will be aired in late January or February.  Watch
for it.  (P.S. I'm the one peeling potatoes on the left!)

Sarah D. Carrigan
Lexington, Kentucky