GLADYS MAY CASELY HAYFORD
Reading edition
“I was born at Axim on the African Gold Coast in 1904 on the 11th of May to singularly cultured and intellectual parents, my mother being one of the daughters of Judge Smith, the first Judge of the Excomission Court of Sierra Leone, and my father being one of the three pioneer lawyers of the Gold Coast.
I am a Fanti, of the Fanti tribe which spreads from Axim right down the Gold Coast, to Acera, and is subdivided into groups speaking different dialects. It is said that the Acera branch, at one time, wandered away from the main body and eventually arrived also at the sea coast, speaking another tongue, but retaining the same customs.
I spent five years in England, three of which were spent in school. I went to Penrohs College, Colwyn Bay in Wales, and on my return home became a school teacher in The Girls Vocational School, Sierra Leone.
By twenty, I had the firm conviction that I was meant to write for Africa. This was accentuated by the help which our boys and girls need so much and fired by the determination to show those who are prejudiced against colour, that we deny inferiority to them, spiritually, intellectually and morally; and to prove it.
I argued that the first thing to do, was to imbue our own people with the idea of their own beauty, superiority and individuality, with a love and admiration for our own country, which has been systematically suppressed. Consequently I studied the beautiful points of Negro physique, texture of skin, beauty of hair, soft sweetness of eyes, charm of curves, so that none should think it a shame to be black, but rather a glorious adventure.”
NATIVITY
Within a native hut, ere stirred the dawn, Unto the Pure One was an Infant born Wrapped in blue lappah that his mother dyed. Laid on his father’s home-tanned deer-skin hide The babe still slept by all things glorified. Spirits of black bards burst their bonds and sang, “Peace upon earth” until the heavens rang. All the black babies who from earth had fled, Peeped through the clouds, then gathered round His head. Telling of things a baby needs to do, When first he opens his eyes on wonders new; Telling Him that to sleep was sweeter rest, All comfort came from His black mother’s breast. Their gifts were of Love caught from the springing sod, Whilst tears and laughter were the gifts of God. Then all the wise men of the past stood forth Filling the air East, West, and South and North; And told him of the joys that wisdom brings To mortals in their earthly wanderings. The children of the past shook down each bough, Wreathed Frangepani blossoms for His brow; They put pink lilies in His mother’s hand, And heaped for both the first fruits of the land. His father cut some palm fronds that the air Be coaxed to zephyrs while He rested there. Birds trilled their hallelujahs; and the dew Trembled with laughter till the babe laughed too. All the black women brought their love so wise, And kissed their motherhood into his mother’s eyes.
Note: lappah—a straight woven cloth tied round the waist to form a skirt. Frangepani—An African flower.
RAINY SEASON LOVE SONG
Out of the tense awed darkness, my Frangepani comes; Whilst the blades of Heaven flash round her, and the roll of thunder drums My young heart leaps and dances, with exquisite joy and pain, As storms within and storms without I meet my love in the rain. “The rain is in love with you darling; it’s kissing you everywhere, Rain pattering over your small brown feet, rain in your curly hair; Rain in the vale that your twin breasts make, as in delicate mounds they rise, I hope there is rain in your heart, Frangepani, as rain half fills your eyes.” Into my hands she cometh, and the lightning of my desire Flashes and leaps about her, more subtle than Heaven’s fire; “The lightning’s in love with you darling; it is loving you so much, That its warm electricity in you pulses wherever I may touch. When I kiss your lips and your eyes, and your hands like twin flowers apart, I know there is lightning, Frangepani, deep in the depths of your heart.” The thunder rumbles about us, and I feel its triumphant note As your warm arms steal around me; and I kiss your dusky throat; “The thunder’s in love with you darling. It hides its power in your breast. And I feel it stealing o’er me as I lie in your arms at rest. I sometimes wonder, beloved, when I drink from life’s proffered bowl, Whether there’s thunder hidden in the innermost parts of your soul.” Out of my arms she stealeth; and I am left alone with the night, Void of all sounds save peace, the first faint glimmer of light. Into the quiet, hushed stillness my Frangepani goes. Is there peace within like the peace without? Only the darkness knows.
THE SERVING GIRL
The calabash wherein she served my food, Was smooth and polished as sandalwood: Fish, as white as the foam of the sea, Peppered, and golden fried for me. She brought palm wine that carelessly slips From the sleeping palm tree’s honeyed lips. But who can guess, or even surmise The countless things she served with her eyes?
BABY COBINA
Brown Baby Cobina, with his large black velvet eyes, His little coos of ecstacies, his gurgling of surprise, With brass bells on his ankles, that laugh where’er he goes, It’s so rare for bells to tinkle, above brown dimpled toes. Brown Baby Cobina is so precious that we fear Something might come and steal him, when we grownups are not near; So we tied bells on his ankles, and kissed on them this charm— “Bells, guard our Baby Cobina from all devils and all harm.”