Can I help? Let me help.

You’re hurting. I know you are. I am too but I have these curse marks on my fingers, they make me fix everything execpt myself. So come here. Let me treat your wounds. I see now that it’s the vital organs that are badly injured. Hmm lets heal the heart first. This is what we do, you talk, I listen. If you want me to I hum, I nod, I bee your bedroom table lamp, I keep the monster under the bed away. Just let me do that for you.

We can go to the dark allies of your chambers. Tell me why you don’t believe in God. I try to make you holy again. Hold me instead of sheytain then recite the queran.

You’re injured. I can’t stop the bleeding but I can slow the hands of time. Take my time as a bargain.

There’s chains on your feets, there’s acid in my stomache. I cut you free.

I saw deserts in your eyes, felt snowflakes in your touches and your breath against my neck was like a summer breeze. You must have been so conflicted. All these temperatures inside you stired up a hurricane of emotions. I can stand with you till the thunder stops and the sky clears up again. Baby, I can wait with you for the rain to pass. I’m used to the cold, don’t worry, it all feels the same these days anyway. Sun, rain, snow.

Just like a child, he doesn’t see the bigger picture, so I had to frame the painting for him. I can paint new pictures for you, the ones on your walls look gray. I can give you the blue of the Bermuda Triangle and blood red of the Middle Eastern , Sakura pink and west African shades of black. I can give you new colors. Let’s hurt together for a while. You lost your people today. Mine has for centuries been extinct.

You’re Europe, I’m Africa. Even your pain is privileged. Capo.

Boy, let me help you. You’re crying over spilled milk. Man the fuck up. Your pain is temporary like the news of the terror attacks in Paris. My pain sits in my bone marrow. Everyday I have to decolonize myself from the world.

You wana try walking in my shoes, their field with blood. Can you swim in this river. Can you breath under water. Can you see in the dark. I can. I was born in it. To a world who snatched the light from me.

The person who experienced pain knows whow to talk to others about their pain. Call me therapist. Healer. Medicin. Magister.

Show your support

Clapping shows how much you appreciated Writer M. Mariama Jobe’s story.