By Yannick Marshall
This number of poetry is a plea and a present from black youths to Africans of the continent and the Diaspora. We sought to discover the broadest topics and such a lot salient of concerns dealing with Africans. via those poems and essays we provide our perspectives, principles, questions, and paintings in the beginning to our humans, our 'Old friends'. "Old pal, We Made This For You" is our contribution as , younger, black, prepared poets to the discourse on Africa and Africa's redemption. Marshall and Aganga met in secondary university in Botswana. presently after sharing poems and ideas they begun engaged on a venture that mirrored a Pan-Afrikan imaginative and prescient from either the African and African Diaspora's standpoint. That venture developed right into a selection of poems known as "Old buddy We Made This For You". Olayemi Aganga born in Nigeria and residing so much of his lifestyles in Botswana has a special realizing of the problems dealing with the continent. residing in Sub-Saharan Africa he has witnessed the areas plight with Aids, violence and poverty and has first-hand event of what it ability to be an expatriate Nigerian in Southern Africa. As such his poems are good rooted within the politics, tradition and the city adventure at the continent. Yannick Marshall born in Canada to black Caribbean mom and dad has an organization figuring out of the Caribbean immigrant adventure and what it ability to be black and a descendant of slaves in North the US. As a member of the black unsleeping African Diaspora his poems replicate the slave and post-slavery event and the slave's mystic romanticism of the continent.
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Extra resources for Old Friend, We Made This for You
Example text
But there she was, in her Grenada dress, with her soul of the Caribbean, (an a soh yuh do me darlin, all when yuh a mash me up, mi deh yah still, don’t it? a jus soh yuh do me darlin yuh soul sweet so till) 59 I ROKO Who carpeted Mama’s womb with bush fire, That she would shed her skin and tears just for me? As I evolved within her closed circuit, Scraping the spark-branches from her nape to navel. Who smoked me out? Brought panic to my fetus till it shuddered between her? Iroko. Beautiful bark, shelter and nourishment.
60 She groaned, As I reared my head lizard-like Scanning this new orphanage. What welcome is this? Into white hands initiating me into this vileness When I used to string the planets like beads around my head? Who has summoned me from the lamp, And has given this anthology of thought form? Iroko, don’t let them take me! Expand your belly skin and let me grow as a man within you, Iroko, uproot, take me back to the sun. 6 T WO NA PPY H E A D S Two nappy heads running at my waist, My boys, with pieces of coconut in their mouths ...
Or how the salt has been spilt on a steel shelf, circling the old flour bags who sit as dreary as pets in a pet store. ” M. Baptiste came out from behind the counter and drew the last of the salt beef from the bloody white bucket. He wrapped it in a brown sheet of paper and handed it to me. “Tell your mother I will pray for her,” he said, returning to his work. I thanked him enthusiastically and assured him we would pay him back. I ran from the supermarket all the way down High Street. Flowers were blown all over Castries like the end of carnival; the wind mashed up many of the rooftop antennas.