Where Are You From?

'Where are you from?' she asks

and I hear the accusation in her voice
Today is the first time I realize that English has its own inner translations to be deciphered
Eg: ‘Where are you from?’
-- Translation: Why don't you look like me? --
-- Translation: Why are you here? --

'My parents are from Tanzania' I say

and I hear my own insistence to distance myself from them, to wedge a gap between us, like the spaces in between my teeth as they begin the transition from milk to adult
-- Translation: It's their fault --
-- Translation: It's not me, I belong here --

and the words aren't spoken out loud but even as I think them I feel a twinge of guilt in the back of my neck / a gentle tug / building up as I grow older / and the twinge becomes a ripple of a far-away ocean calling me home / one end of a never-ending tug of war / where my brain sits panicked at it's centre / frantic and yet cautious / over where to offer up it's misguided loyalties / and in the dark is decided only on one thing / that longing sounds the same in every language /

A man on the TV says:

'it is scientifically impossible for a person to be in two places at the same time’

and everyone nods in awe

I think to myself

I'm afraid you don't know much at all

How do I even begin to explain / how the most insignificant detail can open up a box in your brain / that you sealed and stashed away the last time you stepped off the plane / and the memory drags through you like a fever / starts with an itch on the back of your hand / and next thing you know there's that familiar mosquito buzz / and it's so hot you think you'll faint / but there's a pressure on your back / no face or hands but she keeps you steady on your feet / and you say 'she' from the way she gathers you up towards her chest / presses a kiss to your forehead and swallows you whole / only to spit you right out again / and leave you drenched in sweat / like the final stages of a fever / as the body makes sense of its surroundings / and recognises the warmth welcoming it home /

Someone asks me how to say 'home' in Swahili and when I falter there's a collective sigh around the room
As if to say ' if you're going to be different at least make it interesting'
I decide there and then that I don't want to be interesting

I want to be plain / and rough / like my mother's hands / as she gathers flour and shapes each chapati / mimics an entire generation of hands pulling and pounding and tucking in the folds of their scarves as they sip cardamon tea / I want to go back to when we were kids / when we could play on the street and the sun on our backs was easily forgotten / when we drew on the ground with pink chalk / the lines smudge easily / and the borders disappeared / without too much trouble / one foot on either side / or perhaps it was really my tongue / let's just say / when street sellers tap on our car door / hold out their handmade garments and rattle off their corresponding prices / I'm only half-lying when I say I can't understand what they mean / and it's funny how my relatives shake their heads when our conversations stop after our salaam / but my friends will comment on how good my English is / and then ask me to say something more unfamiliar / just for fun / you see you're interesting until you're taking up too much space / too many halal signs on shop doors / too many boxes on application forms / here's what you don't know / I'm still Muslim when the henna fades / It's still home even when I can't give it a singular name / It's still home even when I'm not there /

'Where are you from?' she asks

and I hear the familiar accusation in her voice
Today is the first time I answer without hesitation

'Tanzania' I say
and as I answer out loud the the tiniest burst of pride sets out a ripple across a far-away ocean linking me to home

A woman on the TV says:

' I am Daenerys -

Mother of Dragons '

and everyone nods in awe

I think to myself

I'm afraid you don't know much at all

there is a greater kind of power in a title like mine

something kinder

a border between resilience and gentleness

and at it's centre myself -

Daughter of Immigrants

n.k