For Sarah Baartman-poem by Serubiri Moses

For Sarah Baartman By Serubiri Moses I have come to take you home where the ancient mountains shout your name. I have made your bed at the foot of the hill, your blankets are covered in buchu and mint, the proteas stand in yellow and white – Diane Ferrus I am coming back home. Sheets of volcanic rock lean over me like tree branches, Shielding my mouth from glaring sun, soothing my feet like a babe in bosom, I am home on these black rocks that bear markings of my forefathers, on which earth they planted trees and manicured lawns, where zebras melt into the zen-like quietness of the landscape in deep grayish browns. I am home trekking the valley with my goats, sheep and cattle. Sarah, our black bodies have left the museums now. My black body has found its silence here among the crater lakes. I return from the place where black bodies are fetishized like fertility dolls, soiled with white semen, and white curses to those to whom Black Beauty must be tamed and groomed. Sarah, I am home in Naivasha on the volcanic bench, where vapor rises from the hot tarmac like morning fog in the rain. Sarah, I am home where The road is a long tongue that drinks up the rain with a terrible thirst.