My mother spoke Hausa
To me
It sounded
Beautiful, I said,
Please teach me
Your languages
Will make it possible for me to speak
The proper words
At the right moment
When something wrong takes place,
I could say, my sincere sympathy,
Mi más sentido pésame, je suis désolé.
¡Basta! me dijo, that’s enough.
You will not need Hausa.
And I did not
Because
When she went to her birthplace
She did not take me, a shame
Because
I did not get to see
How they treated her.
I did not get to fly
In that presidential plane
Piloted by her childhood friend.
They loved her, and even though
They never knew me, I loved them
For remembering to remember.
After my mother left her body,
I needed her tongue after all,
Not to speak of the horror
Committed by Boko Haram. That
I could do all too well
In English, en español ou français,
But only in Hausa could I speak
Words of comfort
To the people of my mother’s past,
Tense now with a future imperfect.
You see, Nigeria has always been
A place of particular concern to me,
Not just now.