I hear the roosters every morning
I hear the donkeys as they bray
I hear my family shooing
All the animals away
I hear the sounds the children make
I hear them shout with joy as they play
I hear them shriek from the beatings they take
But that’s the Senegalese way
I hear the women doing their chores
I hear them pound the grains into pots of clay
At all hours they cook, clean, and sweep, the same tour
But the house is where they stay
I hear the voice on the microphone
I hear it call the village to pray
I hear the Arabic sung in a trancelike tone
All week, five times a day
I hear the wind blow in my ear
I hear the leaves rustles as they sway
I hear my family vanquish my fears
With the Pulaar language as they say,
“Souleymane, Souleymane waawi Pulaar jooni
Si ko Amerik a hotay
Anditay Mako e meeda yijitii
A joggi Senegalnaajo bengure”
(Souleymane, Souleymane can speak Pulaar now
If you return to America
Remember Mako and never forget
You have a Senegalese family)
