These Words I Bleed…

I am not sure if I know what it means to be an African storyteller, to carry with me an African voice , to be an African writer. Who really is an African writer or storyteller ?, is it someone of Africa origins or perhaps anyone and everyone who writes about the continent. After all, Africa has 54 countries and over a thousand languages so what qualifies me to represent such a huge number of people.What role am I then supposed to play with these words I bleed?. Is it to resurrect and keep our history alive or perhaps to analyze the present and shape the future.

Pic Credit | Michael Aboya

I can remember of a time when my grandfather was still alive and he would tell us stories of how the Rhodesia government treated the black community. Does that automatically make him a nominee for the African storyteller award?. I believe as writers, not only writers but storytellers who bleed the uniqueness of African stories, it is our job to now more than ever, be the gatekeepers of our history and memory of our nations. It is our job to shout less about enduring and more about recovery and healing , rarely about the cracks in our walls and more about our muses in our lives and so I will bleed. I will bleed the words of my grandfather and his fathers before him.

These words I bleed are the biographies of my hard working mother that will never be written. They are the stories of my father and the fabrics of his heart. These words I bleed are the traumas passed on by my great grandmother’s mother from generation to generation. They are the pain I can never be able to discribe yet still they are so much more. I know these words might not heal me, but they will be there to hold my hand if I ever need someone. They are the compensation for the voice I will never have, the wardrobe drawers I hide my pain in. They are my bestfriend with benefits, these words are a refuge,they are the library they couldn’t burn down.

No I am not sure what qualifies one to be an African storyteller, but this much I know – the stories that flow through my veins passed through from generation to generation, are what makes me – ME, so I will bleed. I will bleed words that can cuddle a girl and warm her heart just enough to melt her fears away. I will bleed until my people stop apologizing for their own existence, for being themselves. I will bleed until the world understands that my people are not statistics, no they are not numbers or case studies. No, I do not care if I make you uncomfortable – I will bleed until the media and government stops being controlled by the same damn people.

Fuck yeah, these words are the African in me, so I will bleed until I can’t bleed no more, heck until they stop trying to put us in a vase, until they understand that we are the entire garden.

Death and life are in the power of the tongue, and those who love it will eat its fruits.

Proverbs 18:21