Berenice Mulubah

Berenice Mulubah I wrote this poem in 2016 right around this time of the year. Remembering Christmas in Liberia  Mehn, the celebration there was serious, Pot boiling with jollof rice inside, The Kids dressed up, ready for a fun experience If you have Be prepared to give For every greeting ended with "my Christmas on you." Seeking Christmas trees None to be found But that old man beggar Surely did suffice Good old times Great old times Collecting dimes From my uncle Tilmon Christmas in Liberia What an experience The Fun, the laughter Distance relatives from the interior That's Christmas for you, in Liberia

by Berenice Mulubah Berenice Mulubah Me pah my own, I’m Grebo At least, that’s what I have convinced myself Maybe, because I spent some time in Pleabo Or, because my mother, herself is Grebo Despite what the truth is deep my heart they are my people My father may be from Lofa But, what is Lofa to me? A place I’ve never been His people I have never seen Can’t even speak the dialect But sure, I enjoy the food And, that’s how far my love goes I was born and raised in Harper That is home for me My mother and her people are from Harper They are family to me So, when I’m asked, “what’s your tribe?” I just say, “Me pah my own, I’m Grebo.” Even though, my dad is from Lofa Harper is home to me