In the United States, during segregation, Black American travelers, unable to stay in hotels restricted to White patrons, stopped at churches and told the Black ministers or deacons of their predicaments. Church officials would select a home and then inform the unexpecting hosts of the decision. There was never a protest, but the new hosts relied on the generosity of their neighbors to help feed and even entertain their guests. After the travelers were settled, surreptitious knocks would sound on the back door.
In Stamps, Arkansas, I heard so often, “Sister Henderson. I know you’ve got guests. Here’s a pan of biscuits.”
“Sister Henderson, Mama sent a half a cake for your visitors.”
“Sister Henderson, I made a lot of macaroni and cheese. Maybe this will help with your visitors.”
My grandmother would whisper her thanks and finally when the family and guests sat down at the table, the offerings were so different and plentiful it appeared that days had been spent preparing the meal.

Maya Angelou in All God’s Children Need Traveling Shoes (via daniellemertina)