I will explore the hidden depths of this fine country,
With its narrow streets and its broad waters,
That connects continents and divides generations .
I will walk all over the grass,
That lay across my yard,
And say ekushe to the passer-by,
Who whispers back something in an ancient Mende, maybe vai or something else.
Nevertheless, our hellos and our goodbyes,
Are forever linked in a slow pursuit to one nation,
One people.
I will taste fry fry in Waterloo and drink Palm wine in a Limba village with my Temne friend,
Because although our politics is too elastic for our emotions,
Our peace is always in our animated joy.
I will light a lantern on a lantern,
Parading through the beach like I own it,
Because it’s mine.
Because I’m free,
Because I was born here,
Between Number 2 and Lumley.
Sand is no stranger.
I knew water before Virginia Beach.
I will walk on both legs and be normal,
Or whichever I choose, I know,
I’ll earn a nickname or two because of my shortcomings,
But it’ll be in light of my pitfalls not in spite of me.
I will look for rose apples, the sweet ones.
I haven’t had the sweet ones since I left home.
So I will make sure to climb the nearest mango tree and pick as many as I’d like,
Because in my nostalgia,
Fruits are unlimited, absent of Giant and Safeway.
My shopping hours were anytime and anywhere,
Pick and eat.
As long as technique was your friend with cloth tied around the end of the stick,
As you dress your choice of fruit with a hug and tug,
And there, bananas.
I grew up thinking my country was my world and my world was my country.
I was sufficient with knowing my way from Aberdeen to Adonkia or Magburuka to Babadorie.
I will ask for Fanta, and we will spend the Saturday at Aqua, until evening starts out proper at the Office or the Warehouse or some other nightclub with easy access to a Kekeh.
And the breeze will blow my thoughts,
Into a calabash,
Among all the other thoughts of Grandparents,
And traditions.
I will look upon the clocktower,
In Kenema,
To make it home in Bo,
Inside the poda poda,
Squeezing and pushing, in love,
Until the next passengers drops off,
And I enjoy my space.
I will play lodo and hopscotch,
By any river I choose,
As long as lobsters will make a poor man’s meal,
And wash it down with Palm wine,
Until it’s time to lay my head down,
And welcome the dreams,
That Mama will explain in the morning.
I will enjoy my time in Sierra Leone,
Like I own it,
Which I do.
And my other Sierra Leoneans too.
We will not sit by and let the harmattan
Sweep by,
Without claiming what is ours.
That is not how the story will go.
You will recognize our narratives in our faces
In the way we walk
We will be bold and seem arrogant
But we just don’t play around
With what we know is ours.
I will unravel all my emotions
In this barray,
Where the foreigner,
Will have to understand
That my love for Sierra Leone
Is non-negotiable.
Akindele TM Decker is a Poet and Writer based in Washington D.C
