Banjul Epitaphs
            Where were you
When we folded our dreams
Into kites and let them fly
Over the azure skies
Of Banjul,    

                Or when we made tiny boats
Out of our homework
And let them sail on Grant   Street
Towards the saline mangroves
Behind ‘Af Die, the graveyard
The graveyard of slave ships
And of English greed? 

                    And that night
On Fitzgerald
When Ifangbondi etched Saraba
Into our young hearts
As we searched
For the distant lands
Of folktale heroes
And smoked our first piccadillys
Like virgins. 

              Where were you
When the pakin chased us
Down Pignaaye and Rankin
We who could not see
Our fears, yet tripped
Over our laughter? 

              And while the lions
Prowled the deserted arenas
We fought and queued
To see Hemamalini,
The Indian goddess
That stole our lunch
And dashed our hopes.
                    Where you there
That Friday noon
When they came in crowds
Behind our backs
And broke down
The walls of Boxbar
As the police watched
And even threw our ball
Into the gutter,
                    Or when scribes and poets
Came to write epitaphs
For our fallen children
Who only flew kites
Over the skies
Of this city
Laying flat like a tongue
In the mouth of The Gambia? 

  by Momodou Baldeh.©
  
 		
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