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

Non-negotiable

I will explore the hidden depths of this fine country,

With its narrow streets and its broad waters,

That connects continents and divides generations .

I will walk all over the grass,

That lay across my yard,

And say ekushe to the passer-by,

Who whispers back something in an ancient Mende, maybe vai or something else.

Nevertheless, our hellos and our goodbyes,

Are forever linked in a slow pursuit to one nation,

One people.

I will taste fry fry in Waterloo and drink Palm wine in a Limba village with my Temne friend,

Because although our politics is too elastic for our emotions,

Our peace is always in our animated joy.

I will light a lantern on a lantern,

Parading through the beach like I own it,

Because it’s mine.

Because I’m free,

Because I was born here,

Between Number 2 and Lumley.

Sand is no stranger.

I knew water before Virginia Beach.

I will walk on both legs and be normal,

Or whichever I choose, I know,

I’ll earn a nickname or two because of my shortcomings,

But it’ll be in light of my pitfalls not in spite of me.

I will look for rose apples, the sweet ones.

I haven’t had the sweet ones since I left home.

So I will make sure to climb the nearest mango tree and pick as many as I’d like,

Because in my nostalgia,

Fruits are unlimited, absent of Giant and Safeway.

My shopping hours were anytime and anywhere,

Pick and eat.

As long as technique was your friend with cloth tied around the end of the stick,

As you dress your choice of fruit with a hug and tug,

And there, bananas.

I grew up thinking my country was my world and my world was my country.

I was sufficient with knowing my way from Aberdeen to Adonkia or Magburuka to Babadorie.

I will ask for Fanta, and we will spend the Saturday at Aqua, until evening starts out proper at the Office or the Warehouse or some other nightclub with easy access to a Kekeh.

And the breeze will blow my thoughts,

Into a calabash,

Among all the other thoughts of Grandparents,

And traditions.

I will look upon the clocktower,

In Kenema,

To make it home in Bo,

Inside the poda poda,

Squeezing and pushing, in love,

Until the next passengers drops off,

And I enjoy my space.

I will play lodo and hopscotch,

By any river I choose,

As long as lobsters will make a poor man’s meal,

And wash it down with Palm wine,

Until it’s time to lay my head down,

And welcome the dreams,

That Mama will explain in the morning.

I will enjoy my time in Sierra Leone,

Like I own it,

Which I do.

And my other Sierra Leoneans too.

We will not sit by and let the harmattan

Sweep by,

Without claiming what is ours.

That is not how the story will go.

You will recognize our narratives in our faces

In the way we walk

We will be bold and seem arrogant

But we just don’t play around

With what we know is ours.

I will unravel all my emotions

In this barray,

Where the foreigner,

Will have to understand

That my love for Sierra Leone

Is non-negotiable.

Akindele TM Decker is a Poet and Writer based in Washington D.C

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.