They’ve talked and talked about my dance,
People I’ve never even stepped on,
“Ati he’s tall and stiff like a dry banana stalk!”
Too fixed, like a termite ridden log, they sneer,
But little do they know, my joints can wiggle,
Softer than a well-oiled matatu gear.
I twist, I turn, I even shapeshift,
My knees touch ground, my arms stretch skies.
I’ve conquered villages far and wide,
A bird would fly seas just to spread this news.
But they laugh, oh how they scorn!
“Old songs? Yet this boy is young!
Why not Mapangalee or Kulewa na Marafiki?”
Eh, my friends, what does your jealousy earn you?
Isn’t it too heavy to carry, like a sack of wet maize?
Isn’t that why your own feet refuse to dance?
Me, I’ve conquered, I say again,
If a minister catches wind of this talent,
I’ll fly overseas, waving our flag,
Bringing back foreign coins and glory!
But if you think my dance is weak,
Why spit words like bitter herbs?
Let’s meet at the mwano , my people’s true battleground,
And feel the thunder of the maestro’s feet!
Maybe then, you too will gain a talent,
That lets you see the airport.
By Boniface Harrison
