The Dancer

The Dancer

The dancer moved to the drum beat
His expression full of heat
His neck moved in unison with his feet

His hands told a story
His eyes spoke of things past, present and future
His beauty enough to move you
His feet moved gracefully
His body twisted and turned
Like a piece of leaf in the hot sun

His muscles rolled and jerked
To the pulsating rhythm of the drum beat.

Every so often his cloth slid down his hips
And his graceful fingers pulled it in place
The movement so slight you’d hardly notice.

The drummers drummed in a trance
Their rhythms vibrating up the soles of our feet
The dancer kept on talking with his body
Sweat run down his dark muscular flesh
Only to fly off him when his movements jerked,
Or when he jumped and landed on his feet.

There was silence then a shout when the dance ended
Women with brightly coloured scarves wiped the sweat off the dancer to acknowledge the beauty of the dance

The dancer’s glazed eyes sparkled
His lips turned up in a smile
His spirit came back inside him
The spirits of his forefathers had entered him
During the rhythms of the beautiful dance

Natural Woman

When was the last time you felt the warm scalp of a woman
Run your fingers through her hair
Twisted her natural locks through your fingers
Or walked your fingers through the rows of braids
Just like walking through fields of corn

When did you see the true beauty of your African Woman?
Or saw a flawless dark skin?
Or kissed her natural plump lips?

From the days of slavery black women were told “ You gotta have hair like “Massa” ,
Don't want no nappy haired black as sin gal in the house”
The beautiful black women were kept in the cotton fields
While those that had lighter skin,
The products of the slave master s were kept as house slaves
If your hair was long and straight, without a natural crinkle it was your bonus,
a passport to heaven,
a ticket to the illusion of freedom

Now, I hardly see an original black woman
They all seem to have become Chinese, Indian and European
Flicking about hair that is not their own
That may be from a horse, a yak or plastic factory
Afraid to show their natural beauty
Afraid because their men have been conditioned to think that a perfect woman has straight hair and fair skin
Afraid because their sisters would laugh and tease them for their tight curls

Wake up!
Have you ever really looked at the beauty of a black woman, all natural and dark?
They way her teeth and eyes sparkle in contrast to her skin
The way her hair feels soft like the ends of an ear of corn
Or woolly like that of a new born lamb
Twisting and curling itself through your fingers
True feelings exploding through the shaft of natural hair

Men! Treat a natural woman with respect
Women! rise up for the natural woman who dared
For her inner strength and inner pride have made her able to go against the norm
To show her true self
Just the way God made her-----------------
Perfect
A beautiful black woman

written for launch day of Bless the Mic, Ghana. 9/11/2008

Ebusia - Do the right thing

There are some elders who completely disgrace the title
The elders are supposed to be men or women of dignity
But what do we see?
Bickering over property when death puts its icy hands on a family member
Selling off of family land to make profit rather than thinking of the future generations
Even to the point of cheating the family who actually want to improve the area
Oh how I weep inside with I hear of these actions
The custodians of the family land, of the family property behaving like vultures on a tip.

Oh Ebusia
Why, do you take the nipple from the suckling babe?
Why do you strip them of their future?
Sometimes no one knows who you are except the older generations
You did not show interest when the young were growing up
But now that they are dead you claim first place at every event
You perch yourself at a vantage point and watch with eagle eyes
To see who brought what, who donated what and frighten those who mourn
Not caring what the family want
Just to impose your tyrannical laws upon them
Oh Ebusia

No contribution to anything except to take,
pity is the poor mother, wife or child
If you have anything to do with their life
All you would want to know is where the key to the property was,
nothing about how the children would finish school,
how the wife or mother would live
Oh Ebusia

The dead most probably had the greatest respect for your wisdom
Talked about how you would make everything alright should something happen
But now you have done the opposite
And you wonder why the children ignore you when they grow up
Why the traditions are not being carried on through the generations
The same way you treat them is the same way your children will be treated
You may not be here to see the fruits of your bad labour
But it will happen
Do the right thing Ebusia
Shame the devil
Earn the respect and love of the family
So your name will be carried on down the generations
And people will stand at the mention of your name
People are watching you
The clan is watching you
The spirits are watching you
Ebusia

After the Storm

It is dawn and all is still,
The smell of settled dust and washed leaves fills the air.
The sky, once dark and threatening turns blue
The birds sing and chickens cluck over upturned food.


When the storm came, all was lost,
Nothing seemed right,
No movement was heard in the night except the beating of rain on every
Available surface like drums beating the war cry.

All night long the rain came down, the once welcomed trickle turned into a nasty storm
What was once beautiful turned into a nightmare
It was a great storm, a turbulent time that one thought would never end

Everything changed the day you died
Eyes lost their sparkle,
Smiles disappeared,
Laughter stopped,
Happiness just faded into a distance.
The dull ache stayed permanently just below the womb
you know the place, that bottomless pit

Now the storm is over,
The calm that followed was a shock
The distruction clearly visible
The effects of the storm showed in various ways.

Things that were up-rooted were things that were washed away.
Others were destroyed
Some so far gone that there was no repair.
Others like the seeds just floated along, settled and started to flourish.
The weak was removed and the strong became stronger.

The rays of light touched the heart, melting away all fear,
The terror that once held one captive disappeared

What was the purpose of the storm?
We'll never know,
but out of it came a certain understanding,
a certain peace,
a certain calm,
a certain strength and a determination to go on and on and on.



written 30th October 2003

Secret Friend

The touch was tender
The tingles to remember
The kiss so gentle
The feelings high
The rhythm on my thighs
My mouth let out a sigh

The dance was slow
The music turned down low
The light not too bright
In the middle of the night
I wish it would never end
This journey with my secret friend

We met one day in a very strange way
Two lonely souls not really searching
But thrown together for a special reason.
I wish it would never stop
This feeling that makes my heart go hop.

Every time I meet my sweetheart
Nothing else seems to matter
The fear inside disappears
When my lover is close and near
I wish it would never end this feeling for my secret friend

The touch is still tender
The tingles, I don’t have to remember
Cos they are entwined around like the veins inside me
Don’t care about the future as long as this feeling never
Never departs from me
I wish it would never end
This destiny with my secret friend

Friends v Family

Friends that you acquire on the way
Can be discarded at any whim
If they hurt or treat you bad
You just brush them out of your life.

Family, you acquire at birth,
Given freely without choice
Whatever they do you can’t get rid of them
They are stuck to you like superglue
The more you try to get away,
The more they prove that they are here to stay

Friends can be closer than family because you chose them,
You choose ones whose vibes run parallel to yours
You study each other and share their pain
And each knows the ties are by choice and therefore respect them

Family can have opposite and clashing characters
Like boiling water they scrape you raw,
But you can’t get away from them.

Family who love you do so unconditionally
They ask of nothing but care about you
If you have a loving family you are blessed
But if yours is a hateful one, them I’m sorry, you are
cursed

I leave it for you so see
that sometimes things that are given for free
may be a burden rather than a gain
But whatever be the case
I love my family and wouldn’t want to change.

A MOTHERS TOUCH

In the village compound which was cleanly swept and tidy,

a compound not easily accessible by road,

a group of old women sat huddled together.

Sticks and pipes jutted out of their mouths which occasionally moved in unison.

A sigh here and a look to the sky there.

Some sat with their chins in their palms, a look of sadness about them, they spoke:

"This is the time that I should be with my sons and their wives,

with my daughters, and their husbands.

My children should be looking after me now,

after all the blood, sweat and tears that I shed for many days and nights

in their time of illness, their time of pain, their time of sorrow.

"I felt pain when they were born,

but it was such sweet pain when I looked into the faces of the new life that I had borne,

I felt joy when they were growing up and happiness when they became adults,

I felt pain when they left home to set up their new lives but joy when they came to visit,

sitting and laughing while they enjoyed their mother's cooking,

I felt pain when they were going through difficulties,

but joy when they overcame their hurdles.

"Now I sit alone, some stranger, a prophet, in the name of religion,

put their struggles and problems on my head –

"Your mother is a witch, she wants to destroy you"

Just because I am old, a widow, helpless and defenseless,

just because my poverty and suffering is drawn on my face

I am the scourge of my village.

Would I destroy my life?

Life that came out of me?

I may have lost my youth but not my mind.

"Now I don't see my children,

I don't know some of my grandchildren,

my husband's family don't remember me.

There is a pain that never goes,

it just stays there in the heart, in the womb, and gradually eats away at life itself

- oh the pain.
"When I die it will be too late for anyone to say "I am sorry,

" But I continue to love my children,

I continue to feel them in my arms,

I continue to see their laughter and joy,

I continue to live for the day when I would be called "Maame" again - Aye! The pain.

"Old men don't get called witches,

they just marry younger women and continue with life.

What is it that women do wrong in their lives?

Maybe they love and care too much,

maybe they sacrifice too much, feel too much."
One day, someone somewhere will weep,

because they can no longer get back that mother's touch,

that mother's love,

that mother's smile - oh the pain.

Joy

It is such a joy to be alive
to be able to see the smiles and laughter of those around you
to know that you are alive
and have love around you

It is such a joy to have friends and family who love you
who miss you and care about you
it is such a joy to be able to say thinks and have gratitude for all that you have
what a joy to be alive.

Thank You

Aboakyre Festival in Winneba, Ghana

THE DEER HUNT

The night before the deer hunt,

There was excitement in the house,

We stood upstairs looking down onto the courtyard,

While men and women went in and out

Sweat pouring off their brows.

This was my family house,

The meeting place where all the hunters came to prepare,

Fixing their hunting gear and choosing what to wear,

Where women came to cook,

and where the elders assembled to perform their ancient rituals

Not written down in any book.

Sleep would elude us that night,

We sat up eating plantain and groundnuts,

Steamed white corn flour, hot pepper and shrimps

Slices of sugar cane pulled between our teeth,

Drinking cold minerals while the men had their beers and

Something that made them spit.

Dawn was creeping in when the hunters assembled,

They gathered around in their hunting clothes

With sticks, guns, cutlasses, bows and arrows

Looking fierce and frightening to a young child like me.

The noise and drumming, the shouts and scraping of metal cutlasses and

knives on the cement floor sent shivers up my spine.then suddenly they

left, marching and shouting out of the yard , with all the women standing

behind waving their brightly coloured cloths and banging pots with their

wooden spoons.

Then silence!

A different kind of noise arose,

Women laughing, cooking, sweeping,

Children running around playing, shouting,

Trying to get pieces of food out of the pots when mothers were not

looking

Throughout their work they waited to hear

Did our men catch the elusive deer!

For us the children it was now one big party,

The smells going out into the yard made us lick our lips and act like

Scattered chicks,

Our mothers lashed out when we went near the food with

Their sticks shaped like little whips

But we had no fear the men were not here,

What could our mothers do when their hands were full

With pots and pans, and other things too?

Time was getting on and all were anxious,

The silence became like the calm before the storm.

A distant shout, the trampling of feet,

The drumming and shouting swept us off our feet.

The men came jogging with branches so green

The deer held high, looked frightened, with big eyes so brown.

Our colours raised high,

Our men danced full of life

The women gave shouts in the yard,

We were first, we caught it first,

Good luck will be with us the next year,

We all rushed out and followed the crowd

To the chief’s palace to claim our reward

Now the festival gun was fired,

The hunt was over, the men looked tired,

But this was the beginning for us,

Our Company had won the annual prize

Throughout the day we were full of cheer,

Going in and out of each others houses,

While the men sat around and drank beer,

Late in the night we started to doze

As the night brought things to a final close and all around,

the cooking fires, embers gradually flickered out and died.

©2003