Member Poem

You always held yourself
With an untouchable aura:

I remember a time
When I was young, maybe ten or so,
A warm summer afternoon when you
Came over to my place for a sleepover
And we ate the Nigerian jollof cooked by my Cameroonian mother, and we’d argue about which jollof is better
Ghanian or Nigerian, and your speech also had a sophisticated quality to it, one that persisted no matter the circumstances,
Even when arguing about jollof.

And I remember in those days thinking how I too could be so cool, composed,
And when I saw you talking with my older sister and saw how you could converse with her, and the adults too,
I don’t know, but I wanted to be more like you.

But if I were to be honest for a moment, there would be something lingering somewhere deep in the back of my consciousness, a wish; a desire:
I’d hope to see you;
The day, when even for a moment,
I saw the person beneath the mask.
For somehow, amid your imperfections, I found no flaw.

Now time has passed, and we have drifted.
You are no longer my best friend
(I still wonder was I ever?)
But through it all this remains:
My Cameroonian mother still cooks her Nigerian jollof.