In his freshly-waxed
Volkswagen Tuareg
And calls it 
"Getting in touch
With his African roots"
      She wraps her head in 5 dollar a yard kente
hand-woven galabiya
straight from
the motherland
skirts flow like the Nile, but
the label on the back
Made in China
    Africa is not a country and Ethiopia is not the capital
    See he’s got
Tribal roots, like
So, shoot, he better win
Tomorrow night’s b-ball game
Cuz he done paid that
African voodoo lady
$50 to cast
A good luck spell on him
    preaching peace in the middle east and philanthropic efforts in naija you were the same one whos saliva stuck on my lips as you spat "African Booty Scratcher" at my "dirty african face"
   i tasted blood
  on the lips I share with baba 
  whos grandfather was the brother of yours
  seperated by ocean theyre connection died those long days over the atlantic
  those were the days unity died those were the days you and I were destined to meet on a playground in Northeast "so you be chasin lions and shit huh?"

  Africa is not a country and Ethiopia is not the capital
Tatted on his neck, and so
He claims Kemet as his homeland.
Despite the images emblazoned
Into his misled mind
Of fair-skinned 
Phoenician Pharaohs 
"Wait, you mean Egypt’s in Africa?"
      "If your African how come you got pretty hair?"
  "How come you ain’t got a plate in your lip?"
    First day of
Junior high, teacher proudly flaunting
Her newest token
Of internationality
"Say hi to Safia, kids
She came all the way from Africa"
              What you know about
Being the only brown child in a classroom of Caucasian faces
That turned to stare every time
Marcus Garvey or Nelson Mandela was mentioned
Like he was my second cousin or something
"So the black people came all the way from Africa on a BIIIIGGG ship, is’nt that right Ade?"
      Africa is not a country and Ethiopia is not the capital
                  And when I don’t
Arrive, fully costumed
Cowrie shells and mudcloth,
I’m told
That I’m losing touch
With my tribal roots
(We’ve discovered denim in the motherland, folks)

Refugee girl, child soldier
Pitying stares and gasps
When lips part and declare
Sudanese nationality
"You mean like Darfur?"

  "Oh but I thought you was regular black"
              5 foot 10 of
Ebony, wide nose, full lips
But wait…
5’3, caramel
(or, you know, like coffee when you put some half-n-half in it?)
Slim frame and wild curls…
  Y’all can’t both be african
                See what I’m tryna say is
Sahara is not
One of the Pussycat Dolls
You don’t get Kilimanjaro
By mixing vodka
And lime juice
                  How can nations drenched
In history and vivid culture
Be reduced to cities?
And a continent
Tattooed with struggle
And bathed in diversity
To a country
  Called Africa