.black (boy) joy.
(for Sionne Neely and Lineo Segoete)

.ekome.
history saddles with wahala. woaa see that something as mundane as a man running for — and being beclared — president becomes a spectacular global event of historical significance. or that some of the world’s people liking/being comfortable in the skin with which they came onto earth, the hair they were born with, is a heartening thing. that that is a relevant thing at all — history. baggage.
.enyɔ.
she sits sprawled on the ocean-shore, thankful for this most sublime of views which has somewhat drifted her thought waves away from ponderings brought to her mind by unaskedfor courtesy of history. she reflects.
.etɛ.
what a blissful sight: of young black men bare chested; baring their different builds — skinnny to fleesshhy and in-between — unashamed. and sensibly, pleasantly so.
a joyful thing, really, for them to be breathing. in this body, this skin. in the ocean — and yet not on a white man’s ship being cargoed to a certain new world to become three-fifths (or maybe even less) of what they are: humans. and not on a black man’s boat labouring away for a pittance of a wage, if any.
more joyful that: today is a week (working) day — afternoon — and here they are, young black men not working, but playing. in the waters and in the sands: bathing, running around squealing and squealing and squealing, not with tears, no, but with laughter — infectious, sun-filled laughter.
ah, what a joy, what a joy. what glorious joy!