In honor of Women’s History Month, I thought I’d feature South Asian women poets on Poetry Fridays for the remainder of March. Today’s selection is “Shilling Love,” by Kenyan-Indian-American spoken word artist Shailja Patel. Her work “Migritude” premiered last fall in the San Francisco Bay area to packed audiences–it uses her collection of saris, passed down by her mother (another take on Mama’s Saris!), to unfold hidden histories of women’s lives “in the bootprint of Empire, from India to East Africa.”

“Shilling Love” is the first poem from “Migritude” that I came across a couple of years ago, and it has stayed with me since.

Shilling Love
By Shailja Patel

They never said / they loved us

Those words were not / in any language / spoken by my parents I love you honey was the dribbled caramel / of Hollywood movies / Dallas / Dynasty / where hot water gushed / at the touch of gleaming taps / electricity surged / 24 hours a day / through skyscrapers banquets obscene as the Pentagon / were mere backdrops / where emotions had no consequences words / cost nothing meant nothing would never / have to be redeemed

My parents / didn’t speak / that / language

1975 / 15 Kenyan shillings to the British pound / my mother speaks battle

Storms the bastions of Nairobi’s / most exclusive prep schools / shoots our cowering / six-year old bodies like cannonballs / into the all-white classrooms / scales the ramparts of class distinction / around Loreto Convent / where the president / sends his daughter / the foreign diplomats send / their daughters / because my mother’s daughters / will / have world-class educations

She falls / regroups / falls and re-groups / in endless assaults on visa officials / who sneer behind their bulletproof windows / at US and British consulates / my mother the general / arms her daughters / to take on every citadel

1977 / 20 Kenyan shillings to the British pound / my father speaks / stoic endurance / he began at 16 the brutal apprenticeship / of a man who takes care of his own / relinquished dreams of / fighter pilot rally driver for the daily crucifixion / of wringing profit from business / my father the foot soldier, bound to an honour / deeper than any currency / you must / finish what you start you must / march until you drop you must / give your life for those / you bring into the world

I try to explain love/ in shillings / to those who’ve never gauged / who gets to leave who has to stay / who breaks free and what they pay / those who’ve never measured love / by every run of the ladder / from survival / to choice

A force as grim and determined / as a boot up the backside / a spur that draws blood / a mountaineer’s rope / that yanks / relentlessly / up

My parents never say / they love us / they save and count / count and save / the shilling falls against the pound / college fees for overseas students / rise like flood tides / love is a luxury / priced in hard currency / ringed by tariffs / and we devour prospectuses / of ivied buildings smooth lawns vast / libraries the way Jehovah’s witnesses / gobble visions of paradise / because we know we’ll have to be / twice as good three times as fast four times as driven / with angels powers and principalities on our side just / to get / on the plane

Thirty shillings to the pound fourty shillings to the pound / my parents fight over money late in the night / my father pounds the walls and yells / I can’t — it’s impossible — what do you think I am? / My mother propels us through school tuition exams applications / locks us into rooms to study / keeps an iron grip on the bank books

1982 / gunshots / in the streets of Nairobi / military coup leaders / thunder over the radio / Asian businesses wrecked and looted Asian women raped / after / the government / regains control / we whisper what the coup leaders planned

Round up all the Asians at gunpoint / in the national stadium / strip them of what / they carry march them / 30 miles / elders in wheelchairs / babies in arms / march them 30 miles to the airport / pack them onto any planes / of any foreign airline / tell the pilots / down the rifle barrels / leave / we don’t care where you take them / leave

[The poem is pretty long, so you can read Part II here.]

The first time I read “Shilling Love,” it resonated with me on a very personal level. I too grew up in Ghana during the military coups of the late 70s/early 80s, so I’m all too familiar with some of the scenes she paints and the challenges she describes. In my essay, “Children of a Coup” I write more about this:

On June 4, 1979, just a few days before scheduled elections in Ghana, the Armed Forces Revolutionary Council overthrew the government. This was the fourth coup in the nascent democracy since 1957, when Ghana became the first sub-Saharan African nation to achieve independence from colonial rule. At the time, I was five. Those were turbulent days. The government’s body fell apart and violence replaced peaceable discomfort. Lines at gas stations grew long, schools were closed more often than they were open, and SPAM and Baked Beans came close to gaining the status of staple foods.

Unlike me – still struggling to put words to that experience which I half-remember; to piece it together based on family memory and historical narratives, Shailja’s poetry is her activism. She has been described by CNN as an artist “who exemplifies globalization as a people-centered phenomenon of migration and exchange.” I see her as a desi Sarah Jones; there’s power in her punch.

In fact, Shailja is currently in Kenya, where she’s working with the organization Kenyans for Peace with Truth and Justice (read her “Open Letter to Samuel Kivuitu, Chairman of the Electoral Commission of Kenya”); touring various arts festivals in Africa, and working on the second show in the “Migritudes” cycle. I think this seven minute documentary from KQED Arts is worth checking out (You can also click on her picture above to get to it.)

And that’s all for this week’s poetry party.