I Miss Home

I miss the smell of my granny’s hut,
The smoke that stings the eyes until you cry,
The Dover stove baking cookies and pies,
The hidden containers with the last
visitor’s goodies.

Oh, how my granny loves raspberry
It colours her tongue bright red
She loves to wantonly show it off
Like a preciously priced asset.

I miss the sound of cow bells
Ringing in the paddocks,
The earthy cow dung odour in the kraal
At daybreak as I wait for fresh milk
Gogo makes the most delectable amasi.

I miss counting bales of cotton for the mills,
Learning to ride Sekuru’s white horses
Or getting thrown out the scotch cart
By his stubborn donkeys.

Khulu’s magic whistle summons
unsuspecting goats for slaughter
Every visit is a festivity.

I miss swimming in Biri River
(Ah… such freedom)
Wading in the healing waters.
Without inhibition.

I miss eating in the same plate with my cousins
I long to squabble over petty things
Even for the last piece of meat in the plate.

I miss home.
I miss the quiet, peaceful and beautiful countryside.
Memories of Aunty Momo getting sick
Overindulgence on goat meat, it turned out;
My fancy Khulu eating isitshwala with a fork and knife
Till the day he discovered a sharply cut half cockroach.

There is always a generous portion of laughter
From Khulu Bayana and Gogo Mandlovu
As they tell us stories of yester-years.

In a city far away, my heart hurts
tears roll down my eyes
I miss the feathery warm embrace
My granny offers without reservation.
It has come to me, in this lonely, foreign land
That granny is home.