By Yannick Marshall
This choice of poetry is a plea and a present from black youths to Africans of the continent and the Diaspora. We sought to discover the broadest issues and such a lot salient of matters dealing with Africans. via those poems and essays we provide our perspectives, rules, questions, and paintings at first to our humans, our 'Old friends'. "Old good friend, We Made This For You" is our contribution as , younger, black, prepared poets to the discourse on Africa and Africa's redemption. Marshall and Aganga met in secondary tuition in Botswana. almost immediately after sharing poems and concepts they all started engaged on a undertaking that mirrored a Pan-Afrikan imaginative and prescient from either the African and African Diaspora's point of view. That venture developed right into a choice of poems known as "Old good friend We Made This For You". Olayemi Aganga born in Nigeria and dwelling so much of his lifestyles in Botswana has a different realizing of the problems dealing with the continent. residing in Sub-Saharan Africa he has witnessed the areas plight with Aids, violence and poverty and has first-hand adventure of what it potential to be an expatriate Nigerian in Southern Africa. As such his poems are good rooted within the politics, tradition and the city adventure at the continent. Yannick Marshall born in Canada to black Caribbean mom and dad has a company knowing of the Caribbean immigrant event and what it ability to be black and a descendant of slaves in North the US. As a member of the black awake African Diaspora his poems replicate the slave and post-slavery adventure and the slave's mystic romanticism of the continent.
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Chickens squawked above white ’85 Toyota car-roofs, sweating men drew machetes and held green coconuts to the sun while I counted the change. The glass doors of the clinic-pharmacy were always shining, blurred forms ﬂapped newspapers, or tapped prescription bottles 4 inside. I open the doors to ﬁnd Madame Meda speaking with a stranger. ” Madame Meda was always over my head like a fat hummingbird. ” Madame said something about her keeping my mother in her prayers, but my mind was already distracted, scanning the aisle for Tylenol.
The glass doors of the clinic-pharmacy were always shining, blurred forms ﬂapped newspapers, or tapped prescription bottles 4 inside. I open the doors to ﬁnd Madame Meda speaking with a stranger. ” Madame Meda was always over my head like a fat hummingbird. ” Madame said something about her keeping my mother in her prayers, but my mind was already distracted, scanning the aisle for Tylenol. I thanked Madame, kissed her on her cheek and picked up the medicine. An old man opened the glass doors of the pharmacy.
Reynolds. This is Kingston Light Somebody heard shots but no, this is Kingston Light The Rastaman and his staﬀ, Trodding to the riddim of some ancient bongo drums, A car passes—Mr. Channer kisses his teeth: “Why dem bwoy nah go dung a August Town an’ play dem ting? Dem nah see nobody wan ’ear dat boogo boogo music round yah” Rice and peas and oxtail are served in a thatched restaurant Moist under plastic wrap. The pineapple sun streams nectar on veranda plants Drawing hummingbirds to ackee-ﬂowered tables, till they ﬂy out over the street 46 Where goat herders lead their goats through rivers of cars and soldier jeeps.