Jangua Tugende Kusoma
(Quickly, We Go to Study)
Morning breaks lightly among the hills.
Dawn rises quickly as I step amongst dew
and dust.
.
Too early for the young mechanics,
but I bend my knee and speak loudly
to greet the mad woman
and deaf dry cleaner.
.
The night was beautiful, peaceful, restful,
as I slept with those I call
brother, sister, mother.
"Nasuze bulungi"-I slept well,
is all I say.
.
A few steps through town--
burning trash,
babies crying,
children buying chapatis
or washing utensils.
.
Waves and greetings.
"Bye-ee muzungu."
"Bye-ee," I respond,
"Bye-ee, muganda muwana,"
dear brown child.
.
Past the coffee plant,
where young men sweep beans
into the morning sun.
.
Smoke rises as tea boils
on rekindled cooking fires.
.
Now I wander through gardens
of cassava, beans, and g. nuts.
.
A palm tree, tall along the path.
.
Banana plants,
simple in their sustenance,
providing food, fibre, water,
whose leaves take a part
in the dance of life and death,
love and loss.
.
I watch the sun climb above the farthest green hills,
awestruck by the daily beauty.
.
"Good morning Aunt,"
children pull me from my contemplation.
"How are you?"
.
They are fine
in their many-coloured uniforms,
barefoot as they carry
paper-wrapped books,
capless pens,
plastic containers packed with
cassava and sweet bananas.
.
"Quickly," I tell them,
and "study well today,"
drawing happy laughs
as I speak their tongue.
.
Returning again to the road,
remembering childhood folk tales,
I imagine I'm playing a pipe
and wonder how far they would follow me.
.
Greetings continue.
Boda drivers racing to their posts.
Cyclists starting the long trek to Town,
green bananas piled high as they trudge uphill.
.
We all cover our faces
and dodge to the side
as heavy lorries speed toward Tanzania.
.
As we reach the parish hill,
I urge my children onward
and upward.
"Quickly," I remind them,
"lessons are beginning now."
.
Father Grandfather is giving mass up the hill,
the youngest children tidy the compound
with brooms and hoes.
Already teachers are in their classrooms,
the cook's toddler twins splash water in a saucepan.
.
I pull out chalk and a book.
"You are most welcome,
dear Auntie Chrishtine"
as I cross the threshold from dirt to dirt.
.
I smile crosses my face as the 7:00 bell
resounds across the grass.
It is the first hour of the morning,
I am exactly where I belong,
and my day is beginning again.
(Quickly, We Go to Study)
Morning breaks lightly among the hills.
Dawn rises quickly as I step amongst dew
and dust.
.
Too early for the young mechanics,
but I bend my knee and speak loudly
to greet the mad woman
and deaf dry cleaner.
.
The night was beautiful, peaceful, restful,
as I slept with those I call
brother, sister, mother.
"Nasuze bulungi"-I slept well,
is all I say.
.
A few steps through town--
burning trash,
babies crying,
children buying chapatis
or washing utensils.
.
Waves and greetings.
"Bye-ee muzungu."
"Bye-ee," I respond,
"Bye-ee, muganda muwana,"
dear brown child.
.
Past the coffee plant,
where young men sweep beans
into the morning sun.
.
Smoke rises as tea boils
on rekindled cooking fires.
.
Now I wander through gardens
of cassava, beans, and g. nuts.
.
A palm tree, tall along the path.
.
Banana plants,
simple in their sustenance,
providing food, fibre, water,
whose leaves take a part
in the dance of life and death,
love and loss.
.
I watch the sun climb above the farthest green hills,
awestruck by the daily beauty.
.
"Good morning Aunt,"
children pull me from my contemplation.
"How are you?"
.
They are fine
in their many-coloured uniforms,
barefoot as they carry
paper-wrapped books,
capless pens,
plastic containers packed with
cassava and sweet bananas.
.
"Quickly," I tell them,
and "study well today,"
drawing happy laughs
as I speak their tongue.
.
Returning again to the road,
remembering childhood folk tales,
I imagine I'm playing a pipe
and wonder how far they would follow me.
.
Greetings continue.
Boda drivers racing to their posts.
Cyclists starting the long trek to Town,
green bananas piled high as they trudge uphill.
.
We all cover our faces
and dodge to the side
as heavy lorries speed toward Tanzania.
.
As we reach the parish hill,
I urge my children onward
and upward.
"Quickly," I remind them,
"lessons are beginning now."
.
Father Grandfather is giving mass up the hill,
the youngest children tidy the compound
with brooms and hoes.
Already teachers are in their classrooms,
the cook's toddler twins splash water in a saucepan.
.
I pull out chalk and a book.
"You are most welcome,
dear Auntie Chrishtine"
as I cross the threshold from dirt to dirt.
.
I smile crosses my face as the 7:00 bell
resounds across the grass.
It is the first hour of the morning,
I am exactly where I belong,
and my day is beginning again.
No comments:
Post a Comment