An Immigrant Cry

I want to go home I want to go back there Where is home you ask? It is the place of my birth It is where my mother also call home I want to walk the streets that are familiar to my grand parents Bring back the usual “bus stop- bus stop” and “hole it, hole it in” from bus sations I don’t want that processed coconut water from a box on  shelf I want to relax under the cool shade as "grona boys" climb the trees and pick me coconut Ahhhhh the sweet taste of the coconut water straight out of the shell

I can almost taste it I want to partake in the celebration of what we call “26” I want to tell people my “26” on you and hear them say “I way take bath and move it” These fireworks and BBQ celebration is not how I want to celebrate independence I want the noisy waterside market few days before the “26” celebration Oh those little kids that walk about dressed up in their Sunday’s best Everyday I wake up to an alarm clock ringing I rather wake up to  those roosters and early morning sellers I miss knowing that because a rooster woke me up, I will be having it for dinner Take away this coffee maker and gave me my coal pot-

Throw some fire coal in there and boil my water for my morning ovaltine Who asked for this silent train ride to work? I want to say “hello oooooh my people” as I walk to the main roads for work People here don’t want to communicate with each other Everyone seems to be too busy with their devices for a quick “hello ooooh bah” At lunch they gave me sandwiches- bread with slices of meat and leaves inside This is not what we call "real food" I want my bowl of rice top with that sweet cassava leaf spilling on top!

At night, people turn to the TV for news, stories, updates, weather, or just to have noise in their homes I want to go back to when night meant story time! Bring back those “Once upon a time, there live spider and rabbit” kind of nights Here, when it is bed time I put what they call a night light on I miss seeing the light from the mosquito coil as I lay on my mattress on the floor

I fall asleep with hopes that I can dream about a place A place where I once call home; Liberia I miss you, but my cry is that I can be better when I see you again