Excerpt from “On Shipboard”
the scar of the Yoruba.
Her words painted the open market
which we knew so well . . .
She immersed us in the riotous color
of yellow plantains; ripe sugar cane;
Cassava roots; fragrant seasonings;
golden maize; onions and shrimps;
dried gourds; beans and pawpaws. She poured over us the incessant chatter
of the women who gossip; of the women who harangue;
to bring low
the mighty copalwood;
the majestic greenheart; the stately camwood
and to please
the coy young girls
who sat preparing them food
and slipping them winsome glances;
the quiet hours spent
in dreaming and weaving mats for the house;
raffia for the baskets;
wool for the cloths.
... A thousand small things
daily done, scarcely noticed
when we were with our families
in our villages and tribal kingdoms
now rushed in a tumult
to our lips
to be shared
in despair
as we talked together.
the infectious laughter
of the women who joke;
of the women who tease;
the pretended anger
of the women who barter;
of the women who argue.
An innocent joy,
like that of planting
Dahomey and Nigeria;
in Guinea and Gambia;
in Angola and Calabar;
in Lagos and Madagascar.
No matter where we had lived
we knew the joys of planting.
We felt the sleek seeds
racing across our palms,
sliding between our fingers
as we scooped a handful
to drop with loving care one by one
into the shallow cradle
dug out by the smooth heel.
We remembered the cooling touch of dirt
streaming between our sweating toes
as we lightly pushed
a cover over the sleeping seeds.
Such simple tasks, then unappreciated,
but so unbearably precious now.
Such simple pleasures
swallowed by the evil air of slaver
Grayson, Vashti M. "On Shipboard." Phylon (1940-1956), vol. 7, no. 3, 1946, pp. 248-53. JSTOR.
“Why is that man/ Enveloped in greater despair/ Than all others?”
Vashti M. Grayson asks a powerful question in her poem “On Shipboard”. Upon a boat transporting enslaved peoples from Africa to the Americas, she delivers a moment of shared mourning for the homes from which they were so cruelly stolen. They come from many countries, many cultures, and speak many languages, but all share in the painful experience of enslavement. The words of a Yoruba woman return the others to the familiarity of the markets, to daily moments and interactions once “underappreciated”. As the men aboard the ship are forced to push it farther and farther away from their “beloved Africa”, the women crowd together in an attempt to soothe their bruised bodies and bruised souls, finding comfort in reminiscence, if only for a moment, as the boat rocks back and forth over “dark, deep waters”.