The Diary (Kenya): Speaking of Dreams

In Mombasa, boys are called upon to be men at an early age. It is reflected in everything from the manner in which they talk to the things they observe and speak on. At the end of each day I would engage these young men on a variety of topics. One night I asked two young men aged 19 and 20 about their aspirations.  

"Do you have any dreams?" After a brief pause, one looked to me and answered, "My dream. My dream is to have a job." 

I did not expect to hear such a straightforward answer from someone so young. And so I went on to ask, "You mean like a dream job? Like a big famous artist or actor?" With a puzzled expression the young man shook his head as if he'd failed to convey his intended meaning. He looked at his friend as if to ask for assistance in relaying more than an answer, but a feeling to me. 

The second young man then placed his hand on my shoulder and said, "My mom. She buys goods in Dubai and sells them in Tanzania. Then after about four weeks she comes home for two weeks before doing it again." 

The young man to whom I'd originally asked the question now added, "I want to go to work today and come home to my family--today. That is my dream." 

We sat in silence as I took in all that was said.  In their native kiswahili one speaks to the other who asks me if I heard what was said. I reply no, and the young man says, "He says when you leave--he can cry."

I look to the one who said it and he adds, "You--if you know how much I love you man. You're a big brother. We will miss you when you leave."

I return the sentiment before standing up to retire for the night. "Tomorrow," I say. With a nod of the head, they look to me and reply, "Together."

Sojourner's Truth: A Descant to the Negro In America

Oh, say, can’t you see, by the Brown Indian’s plight?

Generations derailed, as the valiant died screaming.

Genocide by the sword, in the name of The Lord.

And the vampires gorged, on the flesh of young seedlings.

But the Prophets said, “Fear—not, the day shall appear,

When the Murderer’s reign, will have ceased once again."

Oh say, does the Blood of the Innocent stain--

O'er the Land of The Thief and the Home of The Slave?

On the eyes it would seem, this was all but a dream

But Broken-winged birds still fly, on the winds that life brings

When I think of the people who suffered before me

Little Black boys and girls, who died sullied and stolen

Though the Caged Bird can’t fly, it will cry, pray and sing

Toward the day when all life shall remember The King

Oh say, does the Blood of the Innocent stain--

O'er the Land of The Thief and the Home of The Slave? 

Where are those that would call ugliness by its name?

Who will stand up for freedom and justice the same?

When the long day has gone, and the cold night done came

Who’ll remember to sing of the sufferahs pain?

In the valley of dark, in the shadow of death

Will your light be my compass? Will you love me no less?

Oh say, does the Blood of the Innocent stain--

O'er the Land of The Thief and the Home of The Slave?

Do you remember that day? Do you remember that night?

When the heavens and earth joined as one for your life?

There was blood; there was war. There was life there was death.

All the ancestors gathered to pray forth your blessing.

There’s a portion of triumph that’s yours all alone

Victory is your name so remember your throne

Oh say, does the Blood of the Innocent stain--

O'er the Land of The Thief and the Home of The Slave?

The Difficult Miracle

I sit alone--

In a four-cornered room

staring at candles

Dwelling in a den of despair

Sort of like Daniel

My Daddy said to, "Handle your business"

But Pop, I can't though

Somebody put a knife in my side

I'm bleeding bad now

Tears of a clown

When I cry, I'm smiling sad so

The next time you see me go down

Help me to stand bro

I pray toward the day when I can

Walk as a man would

'Til then, I'm going to stick to the plan

Just like a man should

Fears traded in for more tears

I lost my best friend

Cried, prayed and sang through the years

God bless the dead and...

The night before The Mourning, won't you--

Send me an angel

Like water breaking free of the womb,

Thats when the rain fell...