You're my tree baby
At the World War II memorial in DC
You stood in the cool watershed
You could not read the beautiful writings on the wall
Nor see the graphic pictures
You did not feel the sudden rush of emotion
When the story unfolded
But your tenacity reminded me
of the landslides of Bududa
You pamper my feet like a mother
You carried my feet in Adekwokok for the first time
None of us could speak the language of the land
We taught each other the language of patience
The bus galloped for several hours
But you could not see the road side sellers
Though you felt the warmth
from the tropical climatic zones
The trees seemed to run with us
Tak-tu-tak-tu-tak-tu
You announce my presence everywhere I go
You once embarrassed me in Dar
The rough haired cobbler
Almost reduced you to pieces
While I sipped on lemonade
He scrubbed and hang you out to dry
Polished your leather torso till it shone
And fixed the golden buckles on your wooden body.
You stroked the contours of my feet like a soulful song
Balanced them on two scales
And my body felt like feathers
Tak-tu-tak-tu-tak-tu
You announce my presence everywhere I go
Is that why they call you mukalabanda–
the noise you make reminds them of ghosts?