Letter From  Beyond the Middle Passage

Dear Mama,
How have you been?
It's your first born, Mali, your kin.
I miss your gentle smile, it's been so long,
I feel like I've done you a terrible wrong
'Cause though I try, your face is still a blur:
For this I deserve all the wrath that I incur.
What kind of son forgets the face of one who gave him life?

I miss your taste, like breastmilk, all fresh and warm,
Your soothing touch once kept me safe from harm,
But alas, not safe enough from those who took me...
I was gathering firewood by the old guango tree.
The griots foretold it but who could concieve
That man's inhumanity to man could cause such grief?

We were taken on a house that moved on water,
There I met up with Nanny, Quau's big daughter.
We were forced to lay on our stomachs the whole journey, Ma,
Not sure how long but it seemed like a lifetime, Ma.
We did everything, I mean everything right there.
The stench of sweat, urine and faeces permeated the sea air.
What kind of human treats another of God's creation like dirt?

When they handcuffed and led us in disgrace
To a strange crowded place I hid my face.
We were at what they called a "slave auction."
There they ogled and probed me in places I dared not mention.
Then one man bartered for and claimed me.
Was that flash of lightning a forboding of what my future was to be?

He branded and gave me a label.
The degradation I endured was unbearable.
But Ma, you'd be so proud of me...
I never once let them see me cry.
Everyday I sing songs of lamentation
For my family, my homeland, my nation
But I make them sound like happy songs,
Hoping some day they'll somehow right the wrongs,
But they'll never know that I'm dying inside.
'Cause all the fears and anguish for my futute I hide.
I entertain them, 'yes massa, no massa' and grin from ear to ear.
Will I ever again lay eyes on all the things I hold dear?

I'll never know my true heritage
Nor be able to trace my parentage.
I grieve for the loss of my homeland, family, my family name,
I'll always be Mali X, or Jones or Smith or Brown, what a shame!
I don't even remember the language you speak
What kind of son forgets his native tongue but one who's weak?

Shhh! they're coming, I can't let them know I can read
Or write, So Mama, so long for now, God speed.
How long can I continue this double life that I must lead
Just because of their autocracy, their fight for power and greed?

Love
Your Son,
Mali X xoxo