Umemulo

Night sounds coming and going here like breath,

while the hot dark encompasses me, strange, oblivious.

A Zulu woman’s voice sounds out across the valley,

to key-board notes that seep into consciousness, like rain.

This city’s water is in my bones.

Its earth was not my cradle,

but its sun has scorched stories

across my pale skin, burning a belonging.

Durban, you are a girl turned twenty-one, baring your breasts

for ‘umemulo,’* as others pin money to your beaded hat.

You are her later that day, sheathed in satin,

sipping birthday champagne in a marquee.

In Africa we love each other.

Our frangipani words stay the air with sweetness.

Home is where the heart reaches,

my song for you is starting, listen.

* Coming of Age ceremony (Zulu)