Chelsea Nahai Awang
Member Since: 1 year ago
Magic Hour
#neighbors Picture gallant men, tall on elaborate horses; women in pretty, woven reds, greens and gold's hauling Nono in calabashes carried on the head; the haunting, elegant scream of the kakaaki over a red, dusty savannah. This is Adamawa state, Nigeria, and I, Chelsea Nahai Awang, am your tour guide. They say that blue hour, the minutes, during sunset, before the sun is fully submerged in the horizon, are magical. I never understood this when I live in other states of Nigeria where the sun ...
Lamido's Palace Museum, Yola (Pictures taken by Chelsea Nahai Awang)
#neighbors Picture gallant men, tall on elaborate horses; women in woven reds, greens and gold's with lips painted black hauling 'Nono' in calabashes carried on the head; the haunting, elegant scream of the kakaaki over a red, dusty savannah. This is Adamawa state, Nigeria, and I, Chelsea Nahai Awang, am your tour guide. Day 1: The palace of the Lamido of Fombina, Adamawa, contains a museum that home to many artifacts and stories of the state's past. Adamawa, a state in Nigeria has a long hist...
Fire on the Mountain, By Chelsea Nahai Awang
Ours was a game of fire A song we cried: "fire on the mountain" A mountain two dozen kids strong Seated along a circle as wide as 'your mother's cooking pot' There was a rumbling of the earth The rising dust fueled our flame Run run run! pounding feet mixed in us fear and fun Stirring a youthful heartbeat behind the ear. There where The child's only desire is To wield a fictional fire. It took only a tap on the back The soundless drop of stick to floor The culprits betrayal with a giggle and ...
Let me Out!
"Let me out of the house", is a daily soliloquy of mine, a silent one as I dare not scorn my shepherdess life Oh only a decade ago, I swore to the world that I could fly. It was not strength that gave me speed But carelessness, childish audacity. We were scantily clad, bare feet Chasing tyres, screaming-not singing- Shamelessly tone deaf to the tune of "Who is in the garden?" Or "Willie Willie" We were the purity of the world and menaces to its residents, and now that I am neither new born no...
The Twins and I
The earth began to turn only after my little brothers were born. Life was bound to begin, at last, so everything before and all else became a bore 'The babies must remain in bed', mother often said, 'but', '-If you watch over them carefully, they will grow up quickly' So I did, and they sprouted before my eyes, twin towers, The perfect playmates The cult I thus initiated the boys into went so: Forcing them into dresses; And inventing worlds in the chasm behind the driver's seat; Making serious...
Child's Play, by Chelsea Nahai Awang
Cold noodles in blue plastic lunch boxes goody-bags hard earned through musical chairs We were A bit too exited to be marching To class, 7:30 in the morning A bit too exited to be writing Essays on 'how I spent my holiday' Then, after school, Exited to have friends over to play those games that never got boring Scratched knees from climbing trees Shoes abandoned, or long lost Warm afternoons and odorless sweat Evening baths, three kids in a tub squealing Unaware of our bodies, our voices, ...
Untangle Africa's Chains for the Win!
I came first and second place at the #AfricaUnchained challenge and I am beyond exited! Thank you Jesus Christ for I know this was your marvelous work, and thank you @nirclepoetry for this opportunity.
Free Your Hair Amaka
Free Your Hair Amaka By Chelsea Nahai Awang She debated modern slavery with me with her defeated hair dangling by her ears To untangle Africa's chains- I say, 'Nne, you must let you hair be tangled' Who lied to Amaka? whose hot iron comb burned her ear in stretching her hair? Africa carries trauma On the smokey scalps of her maidens What once was worn as a crown Braided, woven like warp, twisted like weft Into poetry on the head of a black girl, is defeated by a medieval torture device, is now...
The Modern Slave's Journey
We leave Africa through the Atlantic should not independence burn brilliant? Burn with vengeance: passionate and frantic Yes, our freedom should be beautiful Beauty like their found black, their stolen gold Washed to the salt sea, deemed-unsuitable Our colour is a scarlet letter we have come to despise. Watch us scorn the Black skin than which we think we are better On the modern slaves’ journey we rejoice Floating on air-borne boats, gloating freedom claiming we prostitute ourselves by ch...
A Million Years of Slavery
A Million Years of Slavery By Chelsea Nahai Awang There are a million hearts tied to the pen of every African poet Poets forge words, sewn into hearts We have sewn the lips of our children shut Shut their eyes to history History repeats itself to the ignorant Ignorance haunts our backs the backs and the futures of millions Now when we sit gathered by white artificial fires, We tell stories of concrete jungles And taste grapes in our palm wine We feed the mind to starve the body And buy back o...
Impurities By Chelsea Nahai Awang Like evanescence, we are unclear. Like swirling perfume in a bottle we are colored, stained, painted murky fragrance of murky waters. And as sweat talks, or tears speak leaning over a dark peak of cheek, we are proving humanity yet and again claiming supernature, claiming transience. Steam, ice, binding but ephemeral a brief boiling pot under the Nile -water is brief, brief as Africa herself; starting here, ending there, everyw...
Healed Your love is tested time and time again in my fevering hands while faith lies await You are for me eyes constantly trained on my stumbling and stuttering hands outstretched I'm lifting my eyes I'm taking a step the scarred hands that reach unfailingly familiarly to my side. the holes side to which my faith clings Your scars remind me I've never been special my pain is not unique my suffering not undescribable if my sorrow were water to hopeful flames, then yours was wine. When I wit...
Bitter leaf soup On rainy afternoons, find me crouched over a wet pestle focused, find me bent over searing palm oil, find me reeling sneezing, crying. My mother's immortal fingers adjusting and readjusting a scalding pot When in the middle of this drunken reverie, after pepper clouds die down, and sweat begins to dry, find me puzzled at the big brown lump mother drags to the kitchen. find me tugging at her soiled wrapper mother, what really is for dinner? is it soft boiled yam, dipped int...
I Wish to Steal the Moon I wish to steal the moon as it drifts by I observe it again like colours of the rainbow or any of that which comes and goes which passes by unbothered with legacy live and die open and close my eyes, count one, two and I, a star, exploded forever ago can leave memory to you faraway wanderers and galaxy watchers -to a former me. -Chelsea Awang #poetry
