16 Years Later
16 years later
a mit dɛm na di sem ples we dɛm bi kam lɛf mi
Fritɔŋ Lunge Airport
as a kɔmɔt na di plen, e, a de fil ɔt
so a de drink bɔku wata, a nɔ de ask how much
ɔl mi anti ɛn ɔnkul dɛn se Abu na yu dɔn big so
bɔt dɛn ɔl stil luk di sem lɛk se na yɛstade a go
16 years later
ɔl dɛn pikin dɛn fes luk jɔs lɛk mi
sem nos ɛn chikbon with melanin slightly richer
dɛn nɔ wande si mi bifo bɔt dɛn ɔl de kɔl mi ɔnkul
16 years later
ɛvri mɔnin ɔf ɛvri de
ɔlman de grit ɔlman lɛk se wi na fambul
ivin we di san ɔt, a nɔ de si bɔku lɔng mɔt
‘padiman aw di bɔdi?’
a sam, tɛl gɔd tɛnki
16 years later
ɔl sɔm man dɛn gɛ fɔ it na bred ɛn bɔta
bɔt ɛvri salon man stil gɛt wetin i fasin
sɔm dɛn lɛk uman-lapa, sɔm dɛn lɛk bita-kola
sɔm man dɛn sabi sing we di ɔmɔle dɔn waka
LXG bin tɛl wi se, kaki nɔ to lɛda
bɔt stil dɛn bebi dɛn sabi chɛr am
16 years later
di slogan dɛn na di sem
tide fɔ yu, tumara fɔ mi
minɛŋ o, munɔŋ o, sabanɔ
Sierra Leone, na wi ɔl yon,
una mek wi ep wisɛf for improve Sierra Leone
mi fambul dɛm a no se, chariti bigins at om
so no mata usay a go, a nɔ go fɔgɛt mi salon
wɛlintin, kalba- tɔŋ, bay nyu rod ɔ ol rod
if wi de go wɛstɛnd, wi tek wilkinsin rod
Aberdeen, Lumley, wi kɔntri so lɔvli
16 years later
Taxi drayva stil wan olɔp mi chenj lɛk se a sabi dem
ɛn layt de stil kam ɛn go, lɛk dɛn JC dɛm.
Abu Yillah is a Sierra Leonean Filmmaker, Poet and Photographer based in London.
To Live
A twist
A knot tightened
And then, a gentle breeze
Hibiscus flowers and yellow Roses sway in the wind
The sky clears
A brilliant blue, reassuring, promising
Reminiscent of morning dew.
Colors dance in the sun
Orange, lilac, yellow, green
A soft stream sings ...foaming at the seam
Crabs crawl
A frog skips
Palm Trees gracefully lean towards the sparkling sea
The tides turn and the waves swish and swoosh, crashing into the pale yellow shore
A loosened cord, a lone mango tree
She walks away
Free.
Ngozi Cole is a writer , living in Freetown, Sierra Leone
I Am The Sierra Leone
I am the Sierra Leone that collared a tripping mouthed stranger
whose intoxication challenged my existence before his arrival
O' how he aroused the sentries watching over my fathers' land
whose thunderous growls must have sent him back to the coast
I am the Sierra Leone whose belly is home to to a thousand treasures
adorning a suit of resilience, I splash in exotic waters of patience
and laze on beaches paved with marble sands under the Sierra sun
a picture of queenly flair to all who graze upon my lush greens
I am the Sierra Leone that birthed the Senghe Pieh's heart
of defiance and will to live or die fighting for a right to live
one whose humanity was shipped away on high seas of slavery
to feed the lowliness of colonialism through gullets of racism
I am the Sierra Leone that nursed and taught the Davidson Nicols
of this world, to grace the Halls of the Great Athens of West Africa
whose apparel of glory left to dive, shall fly again in the African skies
for ours is a people with a vision to mark our handprints in history
I am the Sierra Leone where the 'Yokos'
of every generation
dance to the traditional drumbeats of virtue and pride of womanhood
amid deafening citations of high infant and maternal mortality
while the shadow of morbidity stubbornly lingers around our homes
I am the Sierra Leone that an eleven year conflict and carnage
left behind to rise from the shambles of past mistakes, to sing
with one voice that never again shall we swim in rivers of our own blood
just because our voices are stifled by voices stronger and powerful.
Samuella Conteh is a writer, poet and human rights professional from Sierra Leone.
Opposites
I am a soft flower
A pink bud
Plush petals
Covered in gentle dew
Under a blue sky
Little wisps of clouds
Fly by
Chased by the gentle cool wind
You are harsh
Like an emotion
Like a story
Told around the bonfire of Ananse and his antics
I absorb your negativity
Shocked, I find you ridiculous
You wound yourself
And in your wounding
Wounding me
I have been dreaming of rescues
By a prince who comes to kiss me
And you have been dreaming
Of dominating and tapping that
Adding notches to your bedpost
To show your bedfellows
Your proud scores
We are both stupid.
Rosaline Johnson is a poet, singer and law graduate from Sierra Leone.
Harmattan
how does one go back to the cold after seeing the sun?
too often we forget that the light casts shadows
and that her rays do burn sometimes
and her beams blind as they illuminate
that the devil is an angel too
sweet little devil with the broken halo
kissed me lonely and let me go
sweet little devil with the broken halo
kissed me lonely and made it so
how does one go back to the cold after seeing the sun?
after feeling her rays spill on me like the rain
after hearing her lips spill out my name
after tasting the sweet bitterness of her kiss
she smiled like the rain
don't ask me how.
but it washed over you,
it took you over.
i always find myself writing about her smile.
she was a poet's wet dream;
one could never capture her essence on paper.
but something about her compelled you to try.
so every now and again i find myself trying to do justice to the way how she brought out the sun.
the way she laughed made a man desire to change his life's mission -
'cause surely there could be no higher calling than making sure those bursts of heaven came in steady supply.
and i find myself rambling sometimes
whenever she deigns to trespass upon my state of unconsciousness
because for all her magic, she is not welcome here anymore
how does one go back to the cold after seeing the sun?
I've since been trying to figure this out
but i do not know how to not need her
i have never been one for moderation
i do not fall
i plummet
i do not bleed
i hemorrhage
this liquor burning through my belly holds no answers
this burning in my lungs solves nothing
pale imitations of the sun do not suffice it seems
how does one go back to the cold after seeing the sun?
I do not know.
but you left...
...and it's been cold here ever since.
Tarik Ali is a musician, writer and poet from Sierra Leone