You grabbed me! I didn’t expect it. Weren’t we smiling and greeting just moments before?
Passing each other, you and I, on our way to our own worlds, with our own errands, sent by our selves?
Your muscles were shining, sinewy, curved, beautiful even. They were strong, filled up, betraying the many fights already fought, and won. They shone with the sweat of effort.
Eating all your opponents is no small thing. Even their bones, you’d crushed in your jaws.
I felt your strength when you gripped me; it surprised me. I wasn’t expecting it nor this wrestle; yet here we now were, locked in an uncomfortable embrace. I gave my all in the tussle. I gripped back, arms around your middle, locked in, I braced myself, I would not be thrown! This way and that way we went, pushing, shoving, finding, keeping, losing ground.
My face contorted, each crease matching your own, ears closed to anything else, eyes tracking your every move. My muscles tightened as yours flexed. You would not get the better of me!
You didn’t expect my tenacity either, did you? A couple of times, you nearly had me on the floor, with your stealth and tackle, but the gazelle and the hare have taught me well. I jumped, regained balance, and pushed in new directions. We scuffed up the dust; it rose in a cloud all around us, blocking view of all but our struggle. We scarce could see it, locked in our embrace as we were.
And then — was that — a half smile — that just crossed — your face? Could it be? You enjoy this? You enjoy this! Your shiny muscles tell you that you will win, that I will tire, eventually, just now, you think you have me figured out. I can’t stand you, but I can’t bear to look away. I will keep fighting. I will NOT be thrown! Locked in this our embrace, cheek to cheek, brow to brow, muscle against muscle, jaws locked, teeth gritted, feet scuffing dust, some gain, some loss, we’ll wrestle on and on and…
You think you have me figured out? I’ll show you! I tighten my hold on your arms, put my back into it, dig my feet in, and push harder, searching for the opening to fall you.
But just as I kick at a new place, what’s that? Playing with the nape of my neck, flitting with the sweat running down my brow and shoulders? Dancing with my ears…A butterfly? A breeze? The sound of a god who is memory, who is wind…
Slow, within the quiet pupil of the noisy scuffle the message arrives, and lands: You don’t know me. You’ve only heard about me. I know myself; I know my self. I re-member. I look into your eyes and half-smile. I slacken my grip on you, dropping your arms, and our death embrace. I jump back.
Amazing, isn’t it? When I loosen my grip, you can’t hold me. I see surprise on your face, you weren’t expecting that!
Before you think to restart a fight that chases us in circles, I turn and walk away. I was on a journey before, one on which I sent myself. Butterfly song carries on the wind; I hear it.
Goodbye.
Wangũi wa Kamonji is a regeneration practitioner researching and translating Indigenous Afrikan knowledges into experiential processes, art, and honey. She centres Afrika, ancestrality and Earth in her multigenre storytelling extending ancestral invitations to rethink and reimagine everything with Indigenous Afrikan ontologies. Her children’s story “The Giraffes of the Desert” appears in the anthology Story, Story, Story Come. She is published in Shallow Tales Review, Open Global Rights, Africa is a Country, and The Elephant. Wangũi holds close Micere Mugo’s call to find the songs lying around and sing them for all to hear and sing with us. She is based in Ongata Rongai, East Afrika. She can be found on instagram at @_fromtheroots and @wakamonji and on X/twitter at @_fromtheroots.
the Decolonial Passage 