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It’s the end of April, and preparations for Odunde, the largest festival celebrating African and African American culture in the nation, are in full swing. Odunde’s CEO Oshunbumi Fernandez-West, or Bumi, as she’s better known, runs things like an air traffic controller from her South Philly office. But even as fast as she talks and moves, it’s hard for her to keep up with everything landing on her desk.
“Hold on,” she says, halting our interview as she shows another prospective vendor how to fill out an application. While we’re talking, more vendors, suppliers, and artists interrupt. It seems everybody wants to be part of Odunde, which draws as many as 500,000 people to South Street every year on the second Sunday in June.
Despite a myriad of tasks yet to be done, Fernandez-West says, “I’m ready. Odunde is like breathing to me.”
Fernandez-West describes Odunde as her little sister because that’s how long it has been part of her life. Fernandez West was a year old when her mother, the South Philly activist and visionary Lois Fernandez, hatched the idea for Odunde, meaning “happy new year” in the Yoruba language, in 1972 after witnessing the Oshun Festival for the Yoruba people in Oshogo, Nigeria. Three years later, Fernandez and her friend, Ruth Arthur, launched the first festival. Odunde is in its 49th year as Fernandez-West turns 50 this year.
In those 49 years, Odunde has morphed from a one-block street festival into a 15-block celebration featuring more than 100 arts and crafts and food vendors, along with two stages of live entertainment. It’s known as a model for African American festivals worldwide, bringing in $28 million in revenue annually to Philadelphia.
“The fact that Odunde has lasted this long, it’s nothing but God,” Fernandez-West says. “I just thank God that he allowed me to be the one and only daughter of Lois Fernandez.”
And with that distinction has come a wealth of blessings. To be the daughter of Lois Fernandez is to be tethered to a Philadelphia icon. Fernandez was a brilliant, big-hearted, no-nonsense activist who worked tirelessly for the culture.
“Oh my goodness, Ms. Lois! We called her Queen Lois,” chuckles Dr. Delana Wardlaw, one of Fernandez-West’s best friends from their days at Temple, who practices family medicine in Philadelphia. “She didn’t bite her tongue, and she was very clear when she delivered a message, whether it was to Bumi or her friends or to city officials.”
Despite living with a variety of serious health problems — cancer and rheumatoid arthritis that forced her to undergo several joint replacements and, in later years, use a motorized scooter to get around — Fernandez still worked nonstop for her community. One of her last hurrahs in 2010 was to help establish Osun Village, a four-story complex in South Philly for low-income seniors. At the time, Anna C. Verna, president of the City Council, credited Fernandez for Osun Village, saying, “This would never, never have become a reality without the constant, constant persistence of Lois Fernandez.”
By the time Fernandez died in 2017 at 81, Fernandez-West had been her mother’s primary caregiver for half of her life and had been in charge of Odunde since 1996.
“When your parent creates something of a legacy, a lot of children don’t have the capacity to sustain it,” she says. “But my mother taught me. And more importantly, my mother taught me how to live without her.”
And Bumi lives her best life. Just check out her social media reels, and you’ll see her in all of her fabulousness, model-tall, in skinny jeans with hair down her back, carrying designer bags, frequenting restaurants, and parties, and posing with the cityscape as her backdrop emblazoned with the hashtag #yearofbumi.
She’s had people come up to her and say, “You run Odunde? I thought you’d be heavyset and wearing locs.” Or, “You’re not Nigerian.”
To that, she replies, “I never said I was. My mother may have given me a Nigerian name, but I’m South Philly till the day I die. I never pretend to be something that I’m not.”
Bumi’s flash and sass were nurtured and encouraged by Lois Fernandez.
“I never had to look outside my house for mentorship or support to boost my self-esteem,” she says. “My mother would constantly tell me, ‘You’re pretty, you’re smart, you can do it.’ I never had to go to an outside source to find love. I’m good.”
Fernandez-West went to Temple as a biology major. She originally wanted to become a doctor but always felt the pull of Odunde inside of her.
“My mother never forced me. She said, ‘Bumi, if you want Odunde, it’s yours, but God didn’t put you on this earth to live my dream.’ And when my mother told me that, it gave me such a sense of peace.”
It gave her the freedom, Fernandez-West says, to choose Odunde as her vocation.
After graduating from Temple, Fernandez-West went on to earn an MBA from LaSalle. In the ensuing years, she put her own stamp on Odunde. In 2011, she created Odunde 365, which provides cultural programs such as African dance and drumming, hip-hop dance, fashion design, entrepreneurship, yoga, and fitness at schools, community centers, and pop-up shops. There’s also I Am B.U.M.I. — Beautiful, Unique, Magnificent Individual, a mentoring program for girls. “I think everyone is a Bumi,” she says. A lifestyle podcast is also in the works that will cover fashion entrepreneurship “as a woman trying to wear a million hats but making yourself a priority.”
In many ways, Fernandez-West’s life mirrors her mother’s. “Bumi wants to see everyone win,” says Radeen Scott, a friend since kindergarten. Like Lois, “Bumi does so much behind the scenes, whether it’s clothe people’s children, pay someone’s bills….she’s mentored so many girls behind the scenes.”
Those acts of kindness and generosity were ingrained in Fernandez-West simply by watching how her mother moved through the world. It surprised no one that two years ago, when Kesha Simpson, Fernandez-West’s best friend, was dying of breast cancer, Bumi didn’t think twice about taking in Kesha’s two children.
The only thing left for Bumi to do was to get the okay from her husband, Anthony West. The two were newlyweds, and “I wasn’t going to lose my marriage over this,” she said.
“I told him that I need to let Kesha know before she closes her eyes where her children are going to be. He said, ‘Bumi, I’m in.’ That’s how I know my husband is the best.”
Just like that, their blended family of three—her two and his one, all boys—swelled to five, ranging in age from 6 to 19. But the magnitude of the journey is one she can handle, especially if it means her friend can rest in peace.
That is Fernandez-West in a nutshell: loyal, committed, feisty, and real, like her mother. That’s why she believes that in all the years of Odunde’s existence, there has not been one incident of violence.
“Two days before she died, my mother said if anyone comes for me, she was gonna wipe them off the face of the earth,” recalls Fernandez-West, “And I’m happy to say that eight years later, she’s kept her word, and it’s been a wonderful time watching her do it.”
“I want Odunde to be international. I want it to be on every continent. I want us to have our own building where we can provide programs year-round, not just cultural programs but social and mental health programs—all of it.”
She hopes Odunde will continue after she’s gone, but she’s unsure if her children want to take it over. And like her mother did for her, she won’t force them to.
“If it stops with me, we would have had a good run. And when I meet my Lois in heaven, she says, “We’ll be living our best lives.”
This article originally appeared in the 2024 Summer issue of Love Now Magazine with the theme of Family Love. You can read more stories like Bumi’s here.
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