My Little Piece of Africa

Summer time creeps up on the city of Chicago. The city with big shoulders, the city of wind, but most of all a city of color. As I look down at my black hands oh my black hands. The brown skin, reminiscent of the clay God created us from, I can see my veins. And in those veins pumps my blood, my African blood flowing through me like the great Nile. With each pulse "boom" "boom" I can hear the great drums resounding. With each pulse "boom" "boom" I can hear the bass pounding. My body aches for the touch of the sun. As summer comes, as the hot air but a memory of the scorched land from which we originate...I can see the children. The families, the glowing teeth of happiness. "Boom" "boom" as my veins pulse, as the bass bangs the tribal dances begin. The footworks and jukes and break dances erupt on the streets. Displays of power and prowess. Dancing on beat "boom" "boom" in a circle a battle erupts "boom" "boom". Africa is in my own back yard. Across the ocean a mother carries her child on her back walking to gather water for her family, soon her sons and her husband will return...my mother carrying little Caleb prepares the kitchen for dinner. My father and I sweaty from fixing the cars and bikes in the garage. Across the ocean there is a celebration...an initiation into manhood, the oldest. Family... fathers mothers, grandmothers, uncles, and cousins.

The village is full of music and food. Laughter everywhere sweet wines and fruits of the field passed around in merriment. Eventually "boom" "boom" the drums, and the family dances. This time not as a display, but in a cohesion as a team.... in love. Back home the oldest has graduated. A rite of passage. Family gathers. Grandmothers, cousins, friends, mentors, the village that raised him. Barbecue out back. The smell of food dances in the air. Bottles popped, a little Bacardi passed around. Eventually the electric slide bangs over the speakers. And together the family dances. Together in love. Together in my little piece of Africa. Across the ocean, tribes battle for their name, for land and for crops. Death tainting the earth. Here gangs kill for their names, and for hood and crack. There the land in torn asunder, everything of value is not theirs. The world has forgotten them. Here children are cradled straight to the grave or to jail...just a number...a cog in the system. There disease spreads like wild fire death is but an all too often visiting friend.

Here diabetes, hypertension...the hearts is weak the mind is not too far behind. There the family falls apart, children alone raising themselves, babies having babies. Here teenage mothers struggle, fathers nowhere to be found...a nation of men raised by women. Manhood lost. There in THEIR country treated as foreigners. Here the country we built treated as animals. There their flags still hang high with pride. Here...we stand together...fists in the sky. There things are so bad they can only get better. Here hope stays alive. So as I look down at my black hands, oh those black hands.... I see pain, pleasure, slavery, freedom, chaos, redemption, anger, compassion, hate, love, but most of all...I see MY little piece of Africa.