My mother is Jamaican
My father is South African
In Jamaica, I’m Tanielle
In South Africa, I’m Amahle
I have my names
I have my roots,
Yet I don’t know who I am
Or who to claim
My dad can’t cook, so I don’t really like pap
Maybe it’s the lack of flavor
Maybe it’s the lack of love
My dad wasn’t around, so I don’t speak Zulu
My tongue doesn’t click naturally
And the words don’t make sense
My mother raised me on curry goat
Spices and seasonings singe my tongue
I have to fish out a heart-shaped pepper
So I don’t lose my tastebuds
My mother spoke patois
But me no speak di language
I’m quite bad actually
People have said I have an accent like my mothers
But that’s just me speaking naturally
My mother worked in nursing
And my father loved writing
When I was younger,
I wanted a career in healthcare
But now I’m a writer
I guess you could say I’m my father’s daughter
I’m actually just like him
I’ve even had his name
But I’m a little less Zulu
Angilwazi ulimi
I don’t know what I’m saying
I don’t know if I could call myself Zulu
My family knows me but I’m vague
My ancestors have seen me but none of me at all
I don’t know my culture
I guess I’m Zulu by association
Am I even Zulu at all?
The first word I learned was unjani
But Dad, I don’t know how I’m feeling
I’m not American
I’m Jamaican
My birth certificate is a lie
A thin strip of paper does not define my life
I was raised on F.C. Barnes, Bob Marley,
and my mother’s beautiful smile
I would have it no other way
The joy of a culture that I cannot live in myself
It’s as close as I’ll get
I can see the beauty of the island in my mother
Her love grows sweet like the mangoes
Yellow hanging off of tall green trees
Enjoyed by all
She speaks kindly like the community
Not one person could hate her
Her soil grew me like a flower
But I’ve bloomed into an anomaly
I don’t know who I am
Or which country is mine
Am I a Zulu princess, unceremoniously crowned?
Or a Jamaican girl trapped in a country that’s not her home.
I stay in the middle
Swimming across the Atlantic Ocean
Salty water hits my eyes
The lines are blurred
Jamaica or South Africa
Staying on the line, it hurts
Why can’t both of them be mine?