OUR BLAQ STORIES

Then.

I grew up listening intently to stories told with an African voice through the sights and sounds of an African surrounding wherever I was in the world. I know the timbre of the African voice telling stories of characters created to teach a lesson, of days of dynastic majesty, of legends that lived and died and of the call to remember the African way of living. I grew up with elders with failing eyesight but vivid memories who, with every interaction they deposited cultural and historical riches into my spongy bank style world of memories. I was exposed to a broad spectrum of African tutelage without being sat in one place taking notes. It was more sophisticated than that.

In Nigeria, where I spent most my formative days, being the first son of the first son as tradition held, I was introduced to Nigerian folklore and traditional etiquette taught to me by the old mothers of the family spoken to me in the Yoruba language. My only grandparent, my paternal 'Baba' was the dean of my learning in these matters.  I learnt the tongue of my father's tribe through the stories of the carriers of culture. I would speak in English and they would return with our native tongue. The stories of our forebears was spoken with drama, . Everyday life was a production of sorts so as to teach the young about who there are.

Having a foreign mother necessitated the vigorous exercise I went under to make sure that my place in the family was secure and informed. At the time, I wasn't aware of this. I was just a boy interested in the drama of learning new and interesting things about Yoruba culture. I am more grateful now that I was given the opportunity to recognise and relate to the ways the Yorubas tell their stories. I do believe that because of those informal classes that I was given, the storyteller in me was nurtured. Even though I left Nigeria almost thirty years ago, I still draw from those hallowed halls of my cultural and historical tutelage.

Now.

I have been expressing myself through poetry for most of my life. I find it deeply enriching and easier than prose. Many would disagree with me. Especially being of dual nationality, I have been informed by a few close people that I have privilege of writing from the duality that I have experienced. I guess that they are true. Recently, my interest has been piqued by the quality of black storytellers that are flooring the literary world with works that draw all peoples to the ever increasing limelight on our blaq stories. From Chinua Achebe to Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. From Wole Soyinka to Biyi Bandele. From Nnedi Okorafor to Octavia Butler. From Maya Angelou to James Baldwin and the galaxy of black writers, playwrights, directors, artistes, artists, actors and poets.

Black writers have always transcended the restrictive mainstream using a magical weave of imagination, wit and a command of the English language. The likes of the late Derek Walcott used English to lance the boils of colonisation, racism and racial indifference. So did Maya Angelou, Langston Hughes, Toni Morrison, Cyprian Akwensi, Ola Rotimi, and a galant host of others.

I am glad to live in an age when we, as black people are proud to walk into any bookstore and buy works of literary magic by black authors. I am equally gladdened to  be alive in an hour that sees the emergence of us telling our story with unapologetic aplomb.

Our blaq stories is a treasure trove that the world has to appreciate for these stories of ours will not remain hidden because of the despotism of racist constructs and the false and twisted narratives that they spew.

I am loving the awakened sense of pride in our works, be it art, music, books, movies etc by us and others. When Alex Haley's 'Roots' came out in the 80's, it was a major shift for our stories being told in the light, however, then along comes 'Black Panther' and a siesmic shift of African and black awareness is happening.

This is what occurs when we tell our blaq stories.

© zari alexxanderr-caine 2018
#blackpoetboy


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