The woman from abroad.

Dilly dallies…

conversing on our “nothingness”

and then she steps in: beautifully attired.

Very unlike our own fat assed women.

hugs and reminisces visited!

In our own corner: struggling babes that we are,

We visit our own “nothingness”

In visiting, we reach a border of ‘cross laughter…

the kind that sounds crassest out of genuineness.

Yes! our laughter could indeed make you laugh.

In this merriness: worries and hunger forgotten,

labours shifted to the furthest corners of the mind,

I hear a voice crass in its melodies…

No girls! “Thatsnt done.”

and like that,

just like that, in that snooty raised voice

embodying a rich foreign personna,

She totally burst our bubbles,

the bubbles that enclosed us from our heavy worries,

reminding us we were just struggling girls in the moving car

on the lane at Maryland; looking out a car that was not ours!

“No! Thatsnt done”
In that pinched snotty nose! argh!
Must i become an english snub like you?

must I laugh out delicately: a pretense that the fufu I feed on cannot produce?

must I assume am better because I have visited foreign soils?

or simply more civilized than the heartiness of a black soul?

and just like that,

just like that,

She brought the thoughts, cries and pessimism crashing yet again!

and in her blindness, in her “overbearing” civilization, she cannot glimpse that which “the heartiness”

tries best to hide.


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