Your childhood was bright
Don't you remember?
Your childhood was bright, don’t you remember?
Someone used to sing you to sleep, as they clasped you in-between their arms. “Lala mtoto lala mtoto, ndege wote wamelala, lala mtoto” which meant sleep child, sleep child, all birds are asleep, sleep child. But I guess when they said birds, they didn’t include the owl too, cause darling it’s 1 a.m. now, and you’re under your lavender colored pillow trying to drink every word of Noah Kahan as he sings “I’m in the business of losing your interest, and I turn a profit each time that we speak.”
It rained and thundered that night in Moshi town, down at Bondeni, one big window in four grids illuminated by lightning, as you nestled on the same bed with Bibi Mangoi, your grandma. She snored loud and raspy next to your ear. Do you remember what she said when you woke her up? “Simba” she said, was outside. You sank even deeper under your blanket, afraid of the lion outside. I wonder if you’re still hiding under blankets of certain identities, cause darling, there’s no lion, you can come outside now.
Do you remember your Simpsons pajamas? It was a light blue cotton shirt and shorts, and the yellow cartoon figures of The Simpsons all over it. I miss it, but the heat of Dar es Salaam knows how to make bedrooms feel like saunas, so wrapping yourself in a Khanga feels just about right to sleep in. Maybe you could design a Simpsons themed Khanga? The weather in life can change but at least we can always make art and be in style, our style, right love?
The landline with the TTCL badge, that sat on top of the fridge. It was grey and had a long black spiral cord. You and your siblings used to run to it, remember? When it rang, it was a fanatic race, cause everyone wanted to be the first to say “Shkamoo Baba.” All of you knew it had to be Baba, no one else called through that landline, only Baba, and only him. There’s no more racing now, cause somehow the landline was divided into smaller pieces and now everyone has a piece in their pocket. How does your heart become the loudest drum whenever your small piece lights up and vibrates? Someone’s calling dear, won’t you pick up? You used to run remember? To the grey landline on top of the fridge?
Andrew and Gifti, your childhood best-friends. I know you can remember their names but not their faces and that’s okay. You can always remember how someone made you feel, so I know you still recall those mornings your two friends used to come and play with you. And you’d start by having tea and nuts together at the front porch, and talked and talked. I know you wish friendships were still that uncomplicated for you, but what if it’s still true? That there are more Andrews and Giftis you haven’t met yet, and they will want to have tea and nuts and talk and talk with you, yes with you my dear, with you.
You used to wake up so early for school, and it wasn’t for classes that you woke up early for, but for swings of wooden seats and steel chains whose paint peeled off in tiny flakes of red, blue and yellow. You and your friend Annamaria were the only two voices laughing in a silent grassy playground along those squeaky swings at 6 a.m. Flying high in that morning air, kissing the sky, the sun dawning on your dark chocolate skins and maroon uniforms. Six a.m. still exists in your clock darling. I know you miss the swings, but now you live close to the ocean. You’ve already learned how to fly so high in the rush of a swing, maybe it’s time you learn how to swim deep in the tide of the ocean?
You had a beautiful childhood, remember? So lala mtoto, while you wake up an adult, you are still the same person, of the swings, The Simpsons, the landline race, Andrew and Gifti, and clasped in-between arms.