I am from a little country to the west
of the Sub-Sahara, from a tiny village
to the north where shea fruit grows everywhere
and savannah dominates the terrain.
At least on my father’s side, that is.
I am from all the tongues in the world:
all the English, un peu de français
that I learned all through school,Twi kakraabi that I picked up
listening to my friends insult my ignorance,
the tambuyegleng song my father sang me in Dagaare,
and only my name, a princess, in Buli.
My mother did not teach me much.
I am from who I know as my people,
two peoples who refuse to accept me.
I am only half of a Dagao—thank you father,
all of a foreigner—thank you mother,
and there is no space for me in the motif
carved onto my clan’s totem pole.
I perch on the mahogany tree branches
dead centre of my father’s compound home
watching my auntie make shea butter and my cousins
play in the sand near where the pigs are sleeping.
The sun sits in the sky, half-hidden by the leaves,
and half of me looks up, my story blank on the other side.
Anaale Camynta-Baezie is a current undergraduate with majors in Psychology & Cognitive Science.
Camynta-Baezie says about the piece: “This piece was inspired by an ‘I am From…’ prompt that I had to respond to. It was initially just about my heritage, but it evolved into a piece about my alienation from my culture and people. The title itself was the colonial name for my country before we gained independence, which really helped set the tone for the poem.”
Persian Demons from a Book of Magic and Astrology (1921).