Black British: Can You Hear The Sound of the Djembe?

Black British

A short prose poem exploring Black British identity, ancestry, migration and the echoes of African languages, memory and culture.

Golden leaves colour the grey cold floor I walk on pondering. Born of Jamaicans plundered. My patois perplexes & my complexion: milk chocolate brown under the jaded sun. Perfectly bespoke – broken. I seethe on remembering my ancestor chanting a frantic Wolof song. He bashed his drum cementing his tongue to the roots. On the grainy beach lined by baobabs – I and I stood by but couldn’t understand the lingua. You know wa mi bloodclart mean?

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