Rue Mapp founded the not-for-profit network Outdoor Afro to help Black people find connection, inspiration, and community in nature. More than a dozen years later, her debut, Nature Swagger (Chronicle, Nov.), collects stories and essays from Outdoor Afro volunteers and participants alongside photos of them enjoying the great outdoors. PW spoke with Mapp about the need for inclusivity and Black leadership in outdoorsy communities and the transformational power of getting outside.
What prompted you to found Outdoor Afro?
Outdoor Afro began in 2009 as a blog, but it quickly shifted into a way to help tell a different narrative of who gets outside, and more important, who can lead outside. I didn’t see people who looked like me in the glossy magazines and books of the time, and Outdoor Afro told the story of those who didn’t see themselves represented. Now it’s a national not-for-profit staffed with a trained volunteer network, in 40 states and 60 cities, bringing 60,000 people outside to hike, bike, and camp.
How did you first fall in love with the outdoors?
My dad and mom are from the American South, and when they moved to California in search of what Isabel Wilkerson called “the warmth of other suns,” they brought with them a strong ethos of connecting to nature and hospitality at the family ranch in Lake County. I had an opportunity to freely explore nature on my own terms, but that connection wasn’t just about us and our family; it was how we shared it with other people. As I began to expand my outdoor experience, I didn’t find the hospitality I was looking for, so I set out to create it. Outdoor Afro has been a way to lower barriers around gear and equipment, and ensure everyone feels welcomed.
You’ve called the book a “standing invitation to reconnect with nature, and write your own story and transform within it.” What does this mean?
Nature is the ultimate open-source platform—it has something for everybody. Whether you’re an alpine skier or backyard gardener, you can find connection, healing, and purpose. So much of my early experience was very goal driven—this bike ride will be 13 miles, this hike is of moderate difficulty—but what’s really important is the journey, the connections, the lifelong friendships.
Why did you see so few people who looked like you when you started out?
There’s a narrative that Black people don’t do camping, don’t do mountaineering. But we didn’t always know about those opportunities, where to go or what to do. And for busy working families, the idea that you’re going to drive four hours to somewhere you don’t know what the food is, who’ll be there, will there be people like you—that’s a big ask. This gave me compassion for all the yeses people have to say to participate in outdoor experiences.
What message do you want readers to take away?
The universality of Black joy. We’ve been almost overwhelmed, in the last couple of years especially, with messages of Black bodies in pain and in peril. While this sparks activism for many people, it also became more urgent for us to double down and remember Black joy. I wanted to open a window of possibility for people to think about nature as a tool to get through pain and complication. Joy doesn’t replace the complicated ways we still have to achieve freedom in our minds and consciousness, but I needed to tell a new narrative.
