Tongue like Tide

I awake with the taste of brine

on my tongue

flavours pulled from sleep and seaweed,

memories of language shaped

by wet hands

and rice swelling

in afternoon sun.

Amka, mwanangu,

says the spirit of babu,

spoken through the steam of a kitchen window,

sneaking between the hiss of mafuta ya nazi—

tracing scripture into tile,

each line a map to life.

Songa mbele!

and I walk,

barefoot under baobab shadows

and pepper heat,

each step tasting of names I was never taught,

but always knew.

Baharini,

where the sea unthreads itself in light,

I speak for the first time

in a voice not borrowed,

but built—

salt-worn and sweet...

and wholly mine.

Translations:

Amka, mwanangu (wake up, my child)

Babu (grandfather)

Mafuta ya nazi (coconut oil)

Songa mbele! (move forward!)

Baharini (at the beach)

by Ayhe Ahmed