"Mtembezi" ‐ The Wanderer

Nahar Sadian 

I'm an American,
Or maybe an African.
My homeland... I don't know.
I don't know my ancestors,
I only know that they were born free, free people.

My ancestors were divided
still before they were put on ships from Africa to America.
They were divided according to tribes
Not two people from the same tribe next to each other
So they could not communicate with each other
They were to serve their white owners
They weren't to talk with each other
They were to serve and be quiet.

In the back of my mind, I think I remember the language of those ancestors,
The language of the sun and happy smiles which was forbidden in an empire in which
the sun would never set,
I speak a dialect , a mix between the language of my people and my owners'.
People do not like my accent,
they tell me to go back home.
Sometimes they use words, in other cases, I can read it from their faces.

But where is my home?

I see their faces,
Pale and reddish, their noses up into the sky.
They're not interested
They KNOW that my family came from slaves
Sometimes they know it better than me...

October 2017