Black Joy - Koleka Putuma
Yet every time our skin goes under, it’s as if the reeds remember they were once chains, and the water, restless, wishes it could spew all of the slaves and ships onto shore, whole as they had boarded, sailed and sunk. Their tears are what have turned the ocean salty, this is why our irises burn every time we go under. Every December 16th, December 24th and December 31st and January 1st, our skin re-traumatises the sea. They mock us for not being able to throw ourselves into something that was instrumental in trying to execute our extinction. For you, the ocean is for surfboards, boats and tans and all the cool stuff you do under there in your bathing suits and goggles. But we, we have come to be baptised here. We have come to stir the other world here. We have come to cleanse ourselves here. We have come to connect our living to the dead here. Our respect for water is what you have termed fear. The audacity to trade and murder us over water then mock us for being scared of it. The aud