Krio Heritage - Impressions

Aberdeen,  Freetown,  Sierra Leone.  ©️ I. LISK

I came across my work today while organizing my digital space.

In July 2017, I took part in a writing workshop. It was part of the ‘Africa Writes’ series, this one on Krio Heritage, organized by the British Library.  We examined artifacts, books and writings on Krio culture and settlement . We also brought in some items from our own personal collections ;  and I wrote the following explorative piece - a montage of impressions.

In my mind it is unfinished; my efforts resulted in 3 vignettes, and each could be expanded into stories or poems.  As an exercise, it was adequate for the purpose of developing thoughts and ideas, which was part of the remit.  I’m told that whatever it ends up being – even unchanged, it was a good start.

We took turns to read our thoughts to the small but encouraging audience made up of  workshop participants and interested guests – it was the first time I’d done something like this - not write, but share my writing efforts with a live audience - it meant a lot because memories can be so personal.  

I hope you feel inspired to do the same- enjoy !

The Return (May 2017)

On our descent to the airport, I marvel at the ribbons of water tracing a path in and around the mangrove swamps on the outskirts of Lungi; itself attached like a tag to the mainland, by a sliver of land.

A channel flowing from the Atlantic Ocean separates us from the mainland; wide enough to require a ferry crossing and yet tantalizingly close enough to spark an impatience to get to the welcoming lights dotted around the coastal city.  They thin out into a sparse twinkling the further up the backdrop of mountains one looks. Still, I thought, there are more lights up there than I remembered.

The vegetation is lush green, and the shape of the background still imposing. I try to imagine  the impression of the first Krio settlers. It would have been even darker, more lush, and the Lion Mountains more menacing in the lightening lit skyline then.

Now it was dusk, and the sky took on a hue of mauve and orange ;  I remembered with anticipation the spectacular displays from my childhood drives to the beach front, just to witness this magnificence; my love affair with sunsets so imbued.

The warm air hugged me and my nose detected the familiar heady cocktail of the dusky smell of earth, warm sea air, fire and wood smoke that fills the humid air at eventide; like the warm embrace of a beloved aunt  who envelopes you with big arms and a familiar comforting smell.  Yet there was something new in the air – the smell of fuel and the humming  sound  from the new kids on the block - diesel generators .

View from Signal Hill, Freetown,  Sierra Leone.   ©️ I. LISK

 

 

My grandmother…and thinking of my first welcome (early 70's).  

I first saw the shores of what was to become my ‘motherland' as a 10 year old from a ship anchored offshore from the Queen Elizabeth Quay, on a typically stormy night in October. My grandmother greeted us adorned in her cabaslot - the patterns formed by the bound edges of the thread embroidery working , proudly displayed on her chest and back like armor plating...the threads - thousands of fine rows of white thread, a testament to patience, or defiance in the face of practicality; a bit of frivolity in the face of function - all merged in the design of my darling Ma Bella's purple print dress. 

I remember the welcome committee and the party – the gumbay,  prayers,  ashobi , rice bread, hot peppeh soup, roast beef, jollof rice and stew – a truly krio welcome for returnees.

An example of a print dress - notice the distinctive thread embroidery with binding around cut-out pattern would not wear a belt in my grandma's day !

another example of the beautiful and painstaking embroidery of print dresses - a solid fabric made up of white thread machine embroidery

 

Bodice of a purple print dress

 

My version of hot peppeh Soup

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rice Bread - made predominantly with bananas  and rice flour!

 

 

Home Life - trying to fit in (early 70's). 

I was calm, and she was calm, until she noticed a trickle run from the back of her neck where I had rested my arm , down to her bosom.

I apologized for the blood gushing from my wounded hand as it ran through the channels of the branch-like pattern on the bodice of her cabaslot - following the line down to the pleats which gave way as she bent over, already  tending my gashed thigh.
" Lord have massy !" she cried, shattering the mesmerizing horror of that surreal moment..."una pass me salt ...wey de Dettol ??"
The story then unfolded of my attempt to help with the age old traditional chore of polishing the wooden floors with mansion polish and cloth; and then slipping, a glass in hand, on the treacherous arena I had created on the stairs! She admonished me. “Ah nor sen you!“…”You 'an too saf for polish”  You na England pikin...”

(I did not ask you to do this chore....your hands are too soft for polishing floors....you're not used to this, having been born and bred in England ! ).
Oh, but how I wanted to fit in !

The rhythm that beats in my heart, that thuds in my ears like the gumbay drums and resounds in stoic defiance, tells me, 'me na Salone pikin !'

I did not cry,  just resolved to do it again till I got it right…this fitting in, Krio thing.

By

Isabella Lisk, 1st July 2017

Sunset over Aberdeen Bay, Freetown,  Sierra Leone.  ©️ I. LISK.

#BlackHistoryMonth #krio #sierraleone  #Creole #freetown