POEM: BEING BLACK
POEM: BEING BLACK
[By Bridget E. Ukeni]
Being black is surviving the aftermath of a forced marriage between
two songs that should have never been played together.
One song has rhythm, the other doesn't.
One song is a tale of late-night stories underneath the moon
and the softness of grandma's voice.
This song is a fusion of afrobeats, highlife, coral beads, cultural dances,
ankara and a plethora of native attires, diverse cultures, masquerades,
town criers, firewood, pepper soup, spicy and palate riveting food,
early morning palm wine, a communion of tribes and languages,
a coming together of kings and queens.
The other song is a long-lasting nightmare.
It is the tune of segregation, enslavement, colonization and war.
The other song is an echo of those that tried
to shorten our names and truncate our identity.
It is the gulp of those that tried to swallow our heritage and erase our history.
The other song is a myriad of the voices of those that tried to silence us.
Those that tried to convince us that we weren't magic.
Being black is like having a throat full of words.
A resounding voice that must be heard.
Is like having a tongue too sharp to be silenced.
Being black is being met with a grimace
when you say the name of your country.
Being black is like being pulled to the side, rechecked,
and double-checked at airport counters.
Being black is choosing what battles to fight when you're ridiculed by those
who have been taught to hate you solely because of the colour of your skin.
Being black is going to a grocery store and being followed
by a "concerned" shop assistant on a random Tuesday.
Being black is like having post-traumatic-stress-disorder
and being told: "Come on. It's all in the past. Get over it already".
Being black is like a war anthem that goes beyond the chorus.
Being black is a daily protest.
Is having lungs waiting to exhale.
Is having hands stretched out in search of some peace.
In search of some freedom.
Being black is having a sweet sweet mother
more loving and devoted than the moon.
Is having my mother's affirmations ring ring in my ears
when the weight of the world lingers on my shoulders.
Being black is like being in a room full of talent, wit, wisdom and panache.
Is like always having a compound full of laughter and children.
Is knowing how to weave pain into humour
before knowing how to spell your name.
Being black is like storytelling.
Is having too many unanswered questions.
Is answering a question with a question.
Is like metaphors, old parables, proverbs, slangs and sarcasm.
Being black is like being as powerful as Sango
yet choosing not to light the entire city on fire.
Being black is learning to yield undeniable strength and unbreakable resilience.
Is like falling down nine times and getting up ten.
Being black is being in love with how my skin glows in the sun.
Being black is dripping in melanin and sometimes anointing oil.
Being black is like an altar call for celebration at every turn.
Is taking time out of your Saturdays to attend weddings, birthday parties,
naming ceremonies and every other occasion that allows you
to eat party rice and showcase your latest dance moves.
Being black is having too many aunties, cousins and distant relatives.
Being black is like having a name that traces back to my ancestors.
Being black is being raised in a community.
Is like never being alone. Is like friendship and sisterhood.
Is like greeting your elders several times a day.
Being black is like knowing your neighbour's name
and the names of all her children.
Being black is like a sacrifice for your unborn child.
Is like looking for bread and breakthroughs at the break of dawn.
Is like dancing to the heartbeat of a crowded market.
Is like seeking the thrill of one's hometown.
Is buying all sorts of snacks and chilled drinks in traffic.
Is like going home for Christmas.
Being black is like morning devotions and night vigils.
Is like having a spine that curves towards some kind of worship.
Is like an ongoing prayer. Is like waiting for Sunday school.
Is like eating Sunday rice and stew with chicken and fried plantain.
Being black is the plot twist.
Being black is like a kiss between the sun and the fiery core of the earth.
Is like music and miracle. Is like magic.
Being black is like the meeting point of two rivers.
Is like a wild flower growing from concrete.
Is like being killed but refusing to die.
Is like resurrection.
Being black is like being alive.
Being black is like staying alive.
Please come say hi in the comment section. What is your favourite quote from this poem?
Live boldly and unapologetically. You are enough!
Love and laughter,
Bridget.