Grab a piece of our African Print
And we’ll show you how it goes beyond its texture on our skin.
It is a kaleidoscope of colour and pattern
With lines and curves that tell our story.
The marks on our skin, show a history older than the slave master’s whips
We wear these tribal marks on our sleeves as words on paper.
The marks serve as our veins and show that the labour of our heroes past would never be in vain
Our culture is bliss.
The climaxing taste of hot pear and corn.
Let our names wish blessings in sentences upon you
Listen to them as they worship our perfect Maker
On our print you’ll see that we’re wild in nature.
Wild life, Wild hair, Wild eyes, Wild dance steps
We can’t be tamed.
Wild beats, Wild grass, Wild hustle
The hustle is born within us and we mask it with our African Swag.
Here’s how we beat you at your own game
Colonialism was at your loss
Because it didn’t change our blood.
The African Print starts from our raging hearts and forms on our skins as scales.
So, mark our words, the ones we speak within the beats of talking drums
And listen to our town criers warn.
You can’t seat with us unless we want you to,
Just as our earth will not quake unless we let it.
But do not fear for we share our finger-licking meals
The same food print that stains our hands and soils our clothes would take you to heaven.
You see those chains that had our forefathers in bondage?
They have been broken and recreated to form our coral beads.
We have braided them into our hair,
Worn them around our necks, and
Made them dance with our hips.
We’re a little extra; we know.
It’s how we show that our African Print is far from simple.
So even though we still listen to cocks crow and birds sing
Even though we still use wet ink to create our Ankara and Adire patterns,
You know the print didn’t come cheap.
It’s a coalition of blood, sweat, culture, history, love,
We wear it ever so proudly.