By Finley Caisse

I see a Toubab on the beach 

he drinks a soda,

Sip after sip he enjoys the taste,

He throws the bottle away,

—

on his table sits a bottle cap,

No larger than my fingernail,

on it a senegalese gazelle stands,

its print frozen in time,

a deep green color glistening in the sunset 

—

this is *your* bottle cap,

and its like all the others 

but this one i say, 

this one is special to you

—

keep the cap, or don’t

but let it be a reminder,

of where you came from

its life holds a story just like yours,

it came to you in its own special way

—

its metal formed from mother earth,

mined by humanity,

molded by machine,

enjoyed by you.

—

but when you opened the bottle.

your stories crossed,

now think of yourself,

you are just like this cap,

what is your life story?

—

you came from a loving mother,

raised by family,

molded by society,

enjoying life.

—

Look at the ones I’ve collected,

different countries,

different continents,

we all share and tell stories,

my friends from senegal are just like you.

—

they come from loving mothers

raised by villages two thousand strong,

molded by religion and tradition,

they hold their own stories.

—

Griots told these stories of senegal,

they were sacred storytellers,

they live forever,

deep in the Baobob trees

—

I am the last Griot, i would like your cap,

I will hold onto yours,

to remember your life story. 

—

because thats what’s special,

your story to be told.

—

In the baobab tree, forever old.