MAKING AFRICA
Yes, tomorrow I will give a gallery talk in the MAKING AFRICA exhibition at the Blanton Museum, University of Texas, Austin.
I will title the talk, “I am Africa.”
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THE CROSS AND THE WALKING STICK
I was three years old. He just bought a bicycle and I asked him to give me a ride. It was already night.
He placed me on the top tube of his bicycle. Excited, I leaned forward and held the handles. He also held the handles with the left hand, and the saddle with the other, while walking and pushing the bicycle. I imagined that I was riding the bicycle. I looked up and saw the moon.
It is not an okada o.
It is not an okada o.
It’s a long tori.
It started with a green snake.
It entered the house and crawled into bed with my friend.
I was in the other house, painting, when my friend came running in. “A snake! A snake. Quick!” She said, breathless. “Come, quickly. Please! Come and kill it!”
Another African child born in this US exile.
Another African child born in this US exile. Truckloads of soldiers were speeding down the street in their huge vehicles. I felt I was dreaming but it was true:
As usual, I sat in front of my mother’s textiles shop, feeding my eyes with the typically boring activities on the narrow street.
Nothing really ever happened.
BODILESS HEAD
Iya Oyo!” I hailed. “Baba Oyo told me this story about Orí, and it doesn’t make any sense to me whatsoever.”“What story?” she asked. “Is it from his Bible? There are lots of incredulous stories in that book of his.”“No, it’s not from grandpa’s Bible,” I assured her. “He said it’s a story his mother told him.”
THE ROADMAP
I drove to my favorite drive-in coffee shop and stopped at the window to collect my standard order of “Banana bread with nuts, warmed, and a small cup of coffee, black.”
She was waiting for me. She smiled broadly. Her name tag read Jazmine.
“You always have your coffee black,” Jazmine observed. “I like mine with some cream and sugar.”
“Your shirt is cool, Jazmine,” I said. I stretched out my hand from the window of the car as she leaned out from the window of the coffee house to hand me my order.