Shakira Moise Extract from Mami Wata
They tell me that my Mami bad. They tell me that she good. They tell me that she neva come to land or beach or wood. They tell me that she sneaky eh, sneaky slippery sly. They tell me that she sing a song and you gone say bye-bye.
I
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t’s raining when he leaves. The hat he scavenged for me on the last trip barely helps now, and I can feel the water trickling through the dense brush of my hair to wet my scalp. A line of it trails down the back of my neck, tickling a shiver out of me that makes him smile. He kneels, tall enough that the tip of his hair skims the bottom of the sun, making squiggly black shadows on my arms. “Do you remember what I told you?” He murmurs. Behind him, the old rowboat ebbs with the waves. The rope that ties it to the broken dock is frayed and I wish it would snap. Let the water take the boat far away so that he doesn’t have to leave again. I nod, but it’s not good enough. His lips pull tight, greying where the salt-dry skin stretches. “What did I tell you?” “Stay inside.” I say and squint because there’s something in the water, just past his boat, something slick and– “And?” He quips, squeezing my hands to draw my eye. He looks desperate. I’ve seen him look this way before. Always just before he leaves and the split second before he sees me when he gets back. I hate it. I hope he brings back more chocolate.
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shakira moise
