Written piece
red earth and morning mist
Anjabe gerald Anke
Cameroon
About this piece
come from red earth and morning mist,
Where hills whisper stories before the sun wakes.
My language carries the weight of my ancestors—
Soft in greeting, strong in warning, alive in song.
Across oceans, I am not alone.
There are voices like mine—
In islands where drums echo the h
come from red earth and morning mist,
Where hills whisper stories before the sun wakes.
My language carries the weight of my ancestors—
Soft in greeting, strong in warning, alive in song.
Across oceans, I am not alone.
There are voices like mine—
In islands where drums echo the heartbeat of history,
In cities where old empires meet new dreams,
In villages where stories are still told by firelight.
We are stitched together, not by sameness,
But by memory.
By the journeys we did not choose,
By the names we still carry,
By the futures we are brave enough to imagine.
My grandmother’s laughter is part of this thread.
The rhythm of rain on zinc roofs,
The taste of food shared without measure,
The struggle, the pride, the becoming.
I send my story across the sea—
Not perfect, not complete, but real.
A piece of me, woven with yours.
And somewhere,
In a place I may never see,
Someone listens…
And adds their own thread.