Scattered Belongings by Jayne O. Ifekwunigwe

Author:Jayne O. Ifekwunigwe [Ifekwunigwe, Jayne O.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780415170963
Barnesnoble:
Publisher: Taylor & Francis
Published: 1999-01-14T00:00:00+00:00

7

SARAH

"I wasn't White and I wasn't the shape that a little girl should be — knobbly knees"

Sarah was one of the first people I met when I moved to Bristol. She worked in the library in one of the community centers in Thatchapee. Our friendship unfolded gradually, although like her sister Akousa, immediately I was struck by her warmth and exuberance. When she smiled, she used to light up a whole room. Her woman-child idealism and hopefulness went far in a community that was frequently characterized by despair. Everyone knew and liked Sarah.

When I first arrived in Thatchapee, I was terrified about how, or rather, where to begin my research project. I visited Sarah's library and the local public libraries on a regular basis, and for the first six weeks or so, I holed myself up in my top-floor flat, with a kitchen with a view, I existed on a heavy diet of novels by and about Black people in Britain, with a particular emphasis on Black women writers, such as Joan Riley and Buchi Emecheta. Feeling fortified, I then began the task of "doing fieldwork." Even if I was not checking out or returning a book, I continued to stop in to see Sarah at the library. If things were slow, we would have wonderful talks about everything - family, body image, racial politics, apartheid in Bristol, love relationships, food, art, etc. Interestingly enough, when I began the so-called "interview process" she was the griotte, with a White Irish and Black Bajan (from Barbados) father, who was the most reluctant to tell her story.

When we finally did sit down to talk, the fact that I wrote poetry and that she was about to demonstrate her own talents as a poet helped dissipate some of her nervous energy. From the drawer of a wooden bureau emerged a piece of paper that looked as though it had been crumpled up and then, at the last minute, rescued. The following untitled poem about Mama was the product:

Untitled

Mama, Mama, where am I from?

I know I'm from your womb

Unwelcome seed of anguished passion

Stubborn seed not wanting to die

Hot baths, whiskey, pills - nothin' would make me let go of your warm

bloody body

White flesh, Black flesh mingle to produce confused child in unwelcome

world

Nigger, half-caste, mongrel, labeled - named by hatred

Stand strong, love yourself, sticks and stones may break your bones,

but names are buried deep, deep

How hard it is to claim you

Enemies of history, circumstances

How can I reconcile you as one in me?

I am neither

Love is Black, Love is White

Deep shades of indigo

My herstories are her songs of pain

My grandmothers worked hard, bore children with pain

Who they never raised

Where are my grandfathers? My fathers? My child's father?

Their faces filled by shadows

Why weren't you there to love us?

Why aren't you here for me to reject you? Tell me your names

Where are you buried?

So that I may pour scorn on your graves

Weep for my loss.

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