Musings of An African Woman

Michael’s Porch

ewurabasempe — Sun, 19 May 2013 12:10:20 +0000

Shaded from the rays of the sun, yet situated where I can still enjoy the sunshine, I sit on a rocking chair. The bright rays of the sun play on the leaves of the green tress that not so long ago were bare. I have finally made good on my promise to drop by and hang out on Michael’ Porch. I feel slightly guilty because I came to pick up Michael so we could go see Leenie play volleyball, but Michael is nowhere to be found. I presume he is still running errands. In any case, I decide to lounge here while I wait on him. My loyalty is torn at this moment because I am taking in the peace and calm that is present here on this shaded porch when I should be cheering for my girlfriend in her volleyball tournament. The chimes are soothing to listen to—those long tubular metal ones that deliver these awesome sounds like far off church bells. I am anxious for Michael to return so that I can have a reason to leave and go where I am supposed to be.

Later on in the day, after watching Leenie win her volleyball tournament, I return to Michael’s Porch. The atmosphere out here is still gorgeous, but it has gotten progressively noisier; it seems as if everyone is home now. There is a neighbor watering his plants, who lifts his arm in a friendly hello, numerous birds flitting about and chattering to one another, the rustling of the leaves as the wind touches them ever so lightly, and the intermittent sounds of an electrical gadget of some sort providing the whirring accompaniment to this musical symphony. The chimes on the adjacent neighbor’s porch tinkle ever so quietly, as if to remind me to include their unique sound in my descriptions. The wind is strong, yet gentle, and adds the final piece to this arrangement with a swooshing and aaahing that could almost be missed if one were not paying close attention, or if one did not have a trained ear.

A few weeks ago I began reading parts of Joyce Rupp’s “The Cosmic Dance” and being out here reminds me of what I read. Something about being in complete unison with everything in the universe, in such unison that we were part of this cosmic dance that is forever occurring around us. Of course, it is difficult to think of dancing this cosmic dance when you are in a funk, but I believe it is imperative that we remain, at the very least, cognizant of it at all times. Sure, we may feel disconnected at times, but just like the longing and seeking that we experience in looking for love, or the Supreme One, we must attempt to pursue this oneness and unity with the entire universe in a similar fashion.

The barking of dogs draws me out of my reverie. The barks do not continue incessantly, as is usually the case, but rather these barks seem to be on a timer as though triggered by an invisible alarm. For now, everything around me seems to be taking advantage of this opportunity to join in this symphony, this cosmic dance.

The weather is beginning to cool down gradually yet all the sounds are still just as pronounced as they were when I first got out here. The first place I return to every time I visit Ohio is Michael’s Porch. For seven years, it has not failed to deliver. The beauty, the sounds, the cosmic dance, the friendly faces, all there…time after time.

Three Generations, One Roof: Celebrating African Mothers

ewurabasempe — Sun, 12 May 2013 23:57:07 +0000

This piece was published on Africa Speaks 4 Africa this weekend:

http://www.africaspeaks4africa.org/?p=2876

Please click the link to read it. After you read, browse the site!

Thanks for visiting, following, and commenting. You all are the reason I write.

“Pause to Praise”

ewurabasempe — Wed, 08 May 2013 14:53:16 +0000

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JG8stPgHkgQ&feature=youtu.be

Maame Afon’s new music video, “Mala Lala/Emi Oko Orin” boasts a catchy tune; I listened to it four days ago and I am still humming the refrain. The inclusion of background preparations with bantering lends a friendly and familiar feel to the video. The singer and her band invite the viewer/listener in by offering us a stake in what’s about to happen. Paa Kwesi is dilly-dallying. Junior is once again blaming his perpetual tardiness on “Accra traffic.” This whole scene rolls along to soothing instrumentals that set the tone for the actual song.
Maame Afon begins singing, and the pause button is clicked; daily life comes to a halt in the city. A girl skips and twists her arms as she sings along. A young boy hops off his bike to display that spin and two-step his elders taught him. A newly-wed couple celebrates their partnership with a dip in time to the music.
In the village, the masons pause their labor to come help push the stalled car. The young children discover the celebrity in their midst and ask for a song. Sophisticated musical instruments have nothing on the empty paint buckets, saucepan lids, and horns. To top it off, the people in the village work in unison. They pause to praise together. Some salsa, some slide, some two-step. They perform a call and response of sorts.
People all over are pausing to enjoy the beat. Maame is comfortable in both environments. The song appeals to just about everyone. The lyrics are easy to pick up. The colors are playful, tricking your eyes with blues, oranges, sepia, and good-old, black & white. There’s a lot to love about this video! My only complaint: why couldn’t the woman frying yam stop and praise too? I guess it’s the Martha-Mary scenario, huh?
If there is one word to describe this video I would have to pick ‘dance.’ Watching everyone dance, made me grab my sister to practice some salsa moves. Your turn, get up and dance!
“aribiti arabata” is my new phrase!

YARI YARI NTOASO:CONTINUING THE DIALOGUE

ewurabasempe — Thu, 02 May 2013 22:47:44 +0000

It’s FREE!!! It’s happening in 3 WEEKS!

I’m registered! And…I’m moderating the panel on “Writing Sexuality”…go figure!

Saturday May 18, 2013 (2:00-3:15p) with Samiya  Bashir  (Somalia/USA);  Virginia  Phiri  (Zimbabwe); our very own  Nana Darkoa Sekyiamah  (Ghana);  Lola  Shoneyin  (Nigeria) and Anita Cobbinah (Ghana)

SEVEN NIGERIANS FEATURED IN MAJOR CONFERENCE ON WOMEN WRITERS OF
AFRICAN DESCENT, MAY 2013 IN ACCRA, GHANA

The Organization of Women Writers of Africa (OWWA) and New York
University (NYU), in collaboration with the Ghanaian Mbaasem Foundation and the Spanish
Fundación Mujeres por África (Women for Africa Foundation), will present Yari Yari Ntoaso:
Continuing the Dialogue – An International Conference on Literature by Women of
African Ancestry. This major conference will put writers, critics, and readers from across
Africa, the USA, Europe, and the Caribbean in dialogue with each other in Accra, Ghana, May
16-19, 2013.
Seven talented Nigerians, including celebrated playwright and scholar Tess Onwueme,
journalist and blogger Wana Udobang, novelist Lola Shoneyin, performance artist
Wura-Natasha Ogunji, editor and publisher Bibi Bakare, children’s author Akachi
Ezeigbo, and young adult novelist Nnedi Okorafor will speak about their work on topics
ranging from identity, to the craft of writing, to literary activism. These authors will be joined by
other well-known writers such as: Angela Davis (USA), Ama Ata Aidoo (Ghana), Natalia
Molebatsi (South Africa), Yolanda Arroyo Pizarro (Puerto Rico), Sapphire (USA),
Veronique Tadjo (Côte d’Ivoire), Evelyne Trouillot (Haiti), and many others

.
Yari Yari Ntoaso will consist of panels, readings, performances, and workshops, and will be
devoted to the study, evaluation, and celebration of the creativity and diversity of women
writers of African descent. Yari means the future in the Kuranko language of Sierra Leone;
Ntoaso means understanding and agreement in the Akan language of Ghana. Fifteen years
after OWWA’s first major conference, Yari Yari Ntoaso continues the dialogue of previous Yari
Yari gatherings, connecting writers, scholars, and readers.
In addition to the exciting panels, the conference program includes a Saturday morning
“storytime” for children, workshops for adult and youth, and the opportunity to meet writers and
purchase their books. All events are free and open to the public, and Nigerians interested
in literature – whether as readers or as writers, both youth and adults – are encouraged
to attend.

Register at http://owwainc.org/gettingthere.html Most events will be held at the
lovely facilities of the Ghana College of Physicians and Surgeons (No. 54 Independence
Avenue, near the Ridge Roundabout) in Accra.

Participants have received national and international awards from Nigeria, Sierra Leone,
Trinidad and Tobago, England, Côte d’Ivoire, Senegal, the USA, and other countries. They
have been poet laureates and are provocative bloggers. They teach at – and have received
degrees from – universities in Nigeria and around the world, and they have also created and
work with grassroots community organizations.

Why now?
So far, the 21st century has witnessed the creation or reestablishment of women’s and writers’
organizations throughout Africa and its diaspora. Often these organizations both support and
are staffed by emerging writers or those whose writing has yet to receive international
recognition. Yari Yari Ntoaso marks this moment and provides an opportunity for these
organizations, as well as individual writers and scholars, to share information and to build
international networks.

About The Organizers
Founded in 1991 by African-American poet, performing artist, and activist Jayne Cortez and
Ghanaian playwright and scholar Ama Ata Aidoo, the Organization of Women Writers of Africa,
Inc. (OWWA) establishes connections between professional African women writers around the
world. OWWA is a nonprofit literary organization concerned with the development and
advancement of the literature of women writers from Africa and its Diaspora. OWWA is also a
non-governmental organization associated with the United Nations Department of Public
Information (UNDPI).
The Institute of African American Affairs (IAAA) at New York University was founded in 1969 to
research, document, and celebrate the cultural and intellectual production of Africa and its
diaspora in the Atlantic world and beyond. IAAA is committed to the study of Blacks in
modernity through concentrations in Pan-Africanism and Black Urban Studies.
Mbaasem (“women’s words, women’s affairs” in Akan) is a foundation created by Ghanaian
author Ama Ata Aidoo to specifically support African women writers and their works through
addressing problems that all Ghanaian and African – but especially women – writers have to
struggle with, including the absence of appreciation of the essential role creative writing and
other arts play in national development, and women writers’ diffidence in showcasing the
results of their creative efforts.
The Fundación Mujeres por África is a private organization. It was founded with the intention
of becoming an exemplary body in Spain and internationally with its commitment to
sustainable economic and social development, human rights, peace, justice and dignity for
people and especially for women and girls in Africa.

Jayne Cortez was the driving force behind the first two Yari Yari conferences. Yari Yari: Black
Women Writers and the Future (1997) and Yari Yari Pamberi: Black Women Writers &
Globalization (2004) were the largest events of their kind, putting hundreds of women writers
and scholars of African descent in dialogue with thousands of people, and resulting in two
award-winning documentaries.
In late December 2012, amidst organizing this third conference, Cortez passed away. The
conference organizers are presenting Yari Yari Ntoaso in her honor. Described by The New
York Times as “one of the central figures of the Black Arts Movement,” Cortez often performed
with her band The Firespitters, was identified as a jazz poet, and was honored with the
American Book Award and many other accolades.
-moreConfirmed
Yari Yari Ntoaso Participants as of March 2013
(list in progress):

NIGERIAN PARTICIPANTS
Bibi Bakare-Yusuf (Nigeria – Publisher)
Akachi Ezeigbo (Nigeria – Children’s author)
Wura-Natasha Ogunji (Nigeria/USA – Performance artist)
Nnedi Okorafor (Nigeria/USA – Young adult novelist)
Tess Onwueme (Nigeria- Playwright)
Lola Shoneyin (Nigeria – Novelist, poet)
Wana Udobang (Nigeria – Journalist, blogger, radio host)

INTERNATIONAL PARTICIPANTS

Ama Ata Aidoo (Ghana – Fiction writer, OWWA Co-Founder)
Monica Arac de Nyeko (Uganda/Ghana – Fiction author)
Yolanda Arroyo Pizarro (Puerto Rico – Fiction author)
Ayo Ayoola (Ghana – Children’s author)
Laylah Amatullah Barrayn (USA – Photographer)
Samiya Bashir (Somalia/USA – Poet)
Faith Ben-Daniels (Ghana – Scholar of Ghanaian literature & folklore)
Tara Betts (USA – Poet)
Carole Boyce Davies (Trinidad & Tobago/USA– Scholar of African diaspora literatures &
cultures)
Joanne Braxton (USA – Scholar of African-American poetry)
Margaret Busby (Ghana/UK – Editor, publisher)

Gabrielle Civil (Haiti/USA – Performance artist, poet)
Nana Darkoa Sekyiamah (Ghana – Blogger, writer)
Angela Davis (USA – Scholar of prison abolition)
Latasha N. Diggs (USA – Performer, poet)
Camille Dungy (USA – Poet)
Alison Duke (Canada – Filmmaker)
Ira Dworkin (US/Egypt – Scholar of African-American literature)
Zetta Elliott (Canada/USA – Fiction writer, scholar of literature & publishing)
María Teresa Fernández de la Vega (Spain – Fundación Mujeres por África)
Donette Francis (Jamaica/USA – Scholar of Caribbean literature)
Gladys M. Francis (Guadeloupe/USA – Scholar of African & Caribbean literature)
Kadija George (UK/Sierra Leone – Publisher, poet)
Ruby Goka (Ghana – Children’s author)
Wangui wa Goro (Kenya – Translator, poet)
Philo Ikonya (Kenya – Author, journalist)
Rashidah Ismaili (Benin/USA) – Poet
Tayari Jones (USA – Novelist)
Mamle Kabu (Ghana – Novelist)
Madhu Kaza (India/USA – Fiction writer)
Jason King (USA – Scholar of music & popular culture)
Rosamond S. King (Poet, Performance Artist, Yari Yari Ntoaso Conference Director)
Kinna Likimani (Ghana – Blogger)
Fungai Machirori (Zimbabwe – Blogger, poet)
Michelle Martin (USA – Scholar of children’s literature)
-moreNatalia
Molebatsi (South Africa – Poet)
Roshnie Moonsammy (South Africa- Arts administrator)
Angelique Nixon (Bahamas – Scholar of literature & tourism, poet)
Famia Nkansa (Ghana – Poet)
Naana Opoku-Agyemang (Ghana – Scholar)
Virginia Phiri (Zimbabwe – Novelist)
Hermine Pinson (USA – Poet, scholar of African-American literature)
Sapphire (USA – Novelist)
Eintou Springer (Trinidad & Tobago – Poet, playwright)
Cheryl Sterling (Jamaica/USA – Scholar of African & diaspora literature)
Esi Sutherland-Addy (Ghana – Scholar of African education & culture)
Veronique Tadjo (Cote d’Ivoire/South Africa – Novelist)
Coumba Touré (Mali – Children’s author)
Évelyne Trouillot (Haiti – Novelist)
Dzodzi Tsikata (Ghana – Scholar of land reform)
Dorothy Randall Tsuruta (USA – Scholar of African-American women’s literature)
Gina Athena Ulysse (Haiti/USA – Performance artist, scholar of Caribbean anthropology &
blogger)
Rachelle Washington (USA – Literacy scholar)
Crystal Williams (USA – Poet)
Helen Yitah (Ghana – Scholar of African literature)
Kuukua Dzigbordi Yomekpe (Ghana – Memoirist)

Yari Yari Ntoaso is FREE and open to the public; attendees should register online at

http://owwainc.org/gettingthere.html

“Like” the Organization of Women Writers on Facebook!
“Follow” OWWA’s tweets at http://www.twitter.com/owwainc !
For more information on Yari Yari Ntoaso or to interview conference participants, please
contact OWWA at OWWAYariYari@gmail.com .

Coming Out to Cousin

ewurabasempe — Sat, 27 Apr 2013 18:11:13 +0000

“Nyame mpa ngu na Jesu moga impipa!”

She utters these words as if she had been asked to exorcise a demon spontaneously.

“God forbid! And Jesus’ blood wash away!” She prays again.

She was visiting. A distant cousin by marriage; her words really shouldn’t have made such an impact. But because they were indicative of quite a broad cross-section of the Ghanaian population, they hit home. She was convinced mine was a scenario that required exorcism and she was the right woman for the job.

The scenario: I was sitting in between my cousin’s legs getting my hair oiled and twisted (let’s deal with the connotations of this later) when she asked which boy I was dating now. I was famous for having quite a slew usually to divert attention from the real issue. We were all a little tipsy from my cousin’s bachelorette party.

“I’m just not into boys as much,” I said before I realized it. I was exhausted from making up fairytales for my favorite cousin.

“Her you dis gel! Are you letting girls stick their fingers into you? Or are you sucking on vaginas?” These two questions sounded worse because they were said in the crudest way using specific words in our Ghanaian language that were usually reserved for potty mouths, or so we were taught. My cousin, whom I had revered and idolized since boarding school, was far from a potty mouth.

I winced, and instead of responding, said: “Sshhh, the kids will hear you.”

I blushed deeply as I pointed towards my niece and twin-nephews. Thankfully my skin only warmed to my touch; it didn’t change color (here’s to chocolate skin!) I smiled at my niece and her brothers as they instinctively looked my way.

The conversation was halted for now.

Later in the evening when my cousin caught me by myself she said: “Who is it? Who has done this to you? Tell me!”

“Nobody. People don’t just turn gay or lesbian, you know!” I mustered a tight smile as I began the arduous journey of justifying my orientation. As if coming out was not torture enough, everyone felt it their duty to interrogate you to make sure you hadn’t made a mistake.

“Are having fingers inside of me somehow worse than having a penis inside? I was emboldened by the wistful look on her face. “If it’s promiscuity you are worried about let’s talk about that.”

“California turned you gay! I knew it! That’s what people do over there in San Francisco.”

In the last four years of living in the Bay area, I had learned not to respond to this one.

The reality is that those in denial need something to hang their hats on. Who caused this? Who did something wrong along the way? They seem to need an explanation that will make it all better. The first, and my favorite, is the excuse of my abuse. The second, my absentee father, God rest his poor soul! The third, my independent streak. The fourth, too much education.

When my rebuttals to these four fail to appease them, they ask the quintessential question: “Does your Mama know?” Then they go down the list of elders who should be informed. I nod with each one. Yes, they all know already. Then they get mad that they are the last one to be informed.

“Well, how did your Mama react when you told her?” Favorite cousin asks me.

“Oh Ma, she was very supportive of me and has been ever since.”

The incredulous look on her face says it all. She doesn’t think this is possible.

“Ok. How long have you known?” As if the number of years I’ve been out makes me more valid as queer. If it’s too short a time, then it’s a phase. If it’s a long time, then they want a list of people to go blame for this.

“You’ll find the right man, soon. I’m sure of it!” She gives me a squeeze.

I smile tightly knowing I’ve lost another one. I have become invisible yet again.

I entangle myself from her squeeze and climb the stairs to my guestroom.

Death, Deadlines, and Writing about Grief

ewurabasempe — Mon, 22 Apr 2013 21:07:24 +0000

Death, Deadlines, and Writing about Grief.

SOMETIMES

ewurabasempe — Wed, 17 Apr 2013 11:46:53 +0000

Sometimes I think I didn’t cry enough/I should have put my arms around you/covered myself in your draining life-blood/screamed for help/caused a ruckus/told the world you were/mine/you were hurt

I think I didn’t do/what a proper girlfriend/would have done/I should have held/your body one more time/cradled your head in my lap/like the last night we were together/blissfully chatting

I was stoic/without meaning to be/standing there transfixed/the shock and confusion/too much to comprehend/my physical body/rendered incapable/of much else

I set about arranging/your long lean legs/which kept the car door/from shutting/removing your satchel/a quick scan of it/I-pad gone; touch-phone gone; side pockets devoid of cash/an indictment on the onlookers

ER personnel stating/yours was a hopeless case/sick of their incompetence/the ineffectiveness of the system/my stoic voice/told them off/demanded they the attending physician/he confirmed my suspicion/you couldn’t be saved

Afraid to look at the face/I often held between my hands/I braced myself/a stolen glance/confirmed/it wasn’t a pleasant sight/to linger on/in case it left an imprint

Paparazzi gathered around/took cell phone pics/attending physician shooed them away/I wanted to punch someone/I stole another glance/to ascertain it was you/that glance left that imprint/I was worried about

I set about removing/that checkered scarf you never left home without/soaked red/the shoes you loved/clinging to your feet/but those argyle socks you wouldn’t go without/(even in 90 degree weather)/peeled right off

I took your things/ER personnel wanted me to dispose of your scarf/I squeezed it tight/they wheeled you away/still I didn’t scream/or throw myself on your body/still stood transfixed/wishing it was a bad dream

I made the first call to mom/she was hysterical/I gave calm instructions/how to reach your family/the reality of an unknown relationship/finally setting in/who to contact/what to say

Out of my hands/Third persons inform me/plans to move you/memorial planned/fundraising started/your body moved/me left with no lifeline/previous tenuous lines of communication/snipped cold/pain and confusion/anger and sadness/at lack of acknowledgment/thanks were due to a line of first responders/I make excuses for your family/I thank first responders on their behalf

I wake sometimes/calling to thank/the good Samaritans/who cradled you/drove you in search of an ER/who probably needed a new backseat/to remove the reminder/of your life-blood

I wake often/verbally thanking/my cousin/who accompanied me/prepared you in the morgue/because my third glance at your face/told me/I wouldn’t be much help

I wake these days/Wondering if grief/has a timeline/is different/when you’ve only known someone/for a short time/if grief runs on schedule/if you try to forget

Today two months later/this bad dream/is still real/the imprint finally fading/the reality that text messages have stopped/forever/some nights I lie/relishing the old ones/wondering where you were buried/if the live streaming was archived/if closure comes/how and when it comes/when society says to move on/what to do to move on/show I’ve moved on

I lie knowing you are real/now as then/always will be/mine/theirs/ours/now a guardian/of us all

GONE

ewurabasempe — Mon, 15 Apr 2013 21:22:02 +0000

We are not broken up/you are not dead/yet my tears just refuse to/stop flowing

Every little thing/reminds me of you/I can’t play Meshell today/didn’t want to hear Lauren or Tracy yesterday

I make rice and notice/I only have to make one serving/I wrangle up a new batch of tears/while measuring/I see the last bowl you used for cereal before you left/you are not here to fight with over whose turn it is to do dishes or sweep the floor or fold laundry or….

I guess I wasn’t ready/for this day/never thought it would be quite this way/it bothers me/that I am crying this hard given/how fiercely we fought

A part of me feels silly/for crying this much knowing it’s not over/or is it

I’ve resisted going online/stalking your page/waiting for tweets/I’m left with status updates

I must say that at 35/this is one thing I thought I’d figured out/Meet ‘em. Love ‘em. Bang ‘em. Thank ‘em. Leave ‘em/but somehow you made me go somewhere new/now I can’t go back

Today Gospel is the only music/I can listen to/that’s the one genre we didn’t share/but even they/keep telling me I’ll make it through/I already know this/I don’t want to hear it today

Your frame/plopped on the couch/hunched over your laptop/is now just an image in my head/the back of your head/no longer bobs/to music/as you sit at your desk

All I keep thinking is/I gotta move soon/I can’t sit here/crying all day/but for now…I do

deliriously happy

ewurabasempe — Tue, 09 Apr 2013 00:24:13 +0000

I lie on my bed/legs up in the air/bent at the knees/feet moving in syncopated rhythm/toes wiggling/waiting for your text/wondering if the silence means/sleep has claimed you early

I am a school girl/all over again/I giggle often/laugh uncontrollably/blush at the slightest mention/of our relationship/I am/full of life

I smile with every text that comes through knowing I am on your mind/I speak my mind/you speak yours/somehow we can stand each other/for now at least

5 WEEKS TO THE HOUR

ewurabasempe — Mon, 25 Mar 2013 23:46:47 +0000

It’s been 5 weeks to the hour

Most Mondays I feel

Lethargic all day

Headaches and body aches

I can’t explain

I can’t sleep most Mondays

Because I don’t want to

Wake to that fateful call

I don’t want to come collect your

Limp body from the third hospital

That did not have a bed

To begin the emergency care

That you so desperately needed

I don’t want to wrest shoes

Then socks then…

From your body

*****

I still stalk your page

To see who else has just

Discovered your death

Who else is full of grief

And needs to share

Or say what a wonderful

Man you were

Your name used to stare

At me from my chat list

Every day for weeks

One day I signed in and you

Were gone

You had been idle too long

I freaked out because

I thought it meant family

Had deleted your page

I checked

You were still there

I want to download

Every picture

You put up

I want to keep you close

*****

On Saturday, I went to

A Ghanaian funeral

I thought of you throughout

The service

Wondered how your service had been

How sad I was to find out that

Your family had streamed it

Wondered where you have been buried

And if I can come visit you

When next I come to New York

I thought of you at the graveside

Wondering how your mother felt

As the soil was thrown on your casket

As I stood watching the soil thrown

On my uncle’s casket

I wished I had been present for your funeral

I missed you so deeply

I had to walk out of sight of the grave

As the burial concluded and we walked away

I looked for a sign that

You knew I was thinking of you

And wouldn’t you know it

There was an empty packet of

Striker

That Monday when we had dinner

You had confessed that you were stressed

And that you had started the morning

with a Striker or two or…

I didn’t want to hear the rest of the count

So in the graveyard as I was walking

Towards the gate

I looked down and saw you

Smiling at me

I knew that you knew that

I was missing you

*****

I’ve not written much lately

Well not much I want to share that is

Choosing instead to

Focus on my job search

My upcoming readings

Yet my journal pages overflow with my pain

Anger and frustration at a system

That does not work

For the average Ghanaian

Which is what you and I were

Here

This f*cked up system that

Allowed you to die

In the back seat of a good Samaritan’s car

*****

Today 5 weeks to the hour

Two weeks after

Your dust hit God’s dust

I sit tapping away

With a renewed vigor

Similar to that which you

Often gave me

Your words

You must write love

Tonight mine

I am writing love

*****

I miss you

The ache goes and comes

Seeking refuge in my body

When it wills

I think of all everyone has said

It will be a long time

Before you don’t breathe with him

Sometimes I hope this long time

Is short

Sometimes I am scared

I’ll forget before it’s

The end of that long time

I worry that I’ll forget

That once I breathed

In unison with a person

Who made me feel

So alive and open

To all the world’s possibilities

I pray that I have the

Support I need to trek this

Mountain of grief

And to live out loud as you did

And love boldly again

With arms open wider than possible

Uninhibited as you taught me