Mariska Taylor-Darko
(GHANA)
Nacida en Manchester, Inglaterra, en 1956.
Asistió a la escuela secundaria Holy Child y la escuela secundaria St. Mary’s (Hoy High Schools). Pasó luego al Harrow College of Further Education en Inglaterra y se formó como Secretaria Legal y posteriormente siguió un curso de Esteticista/Estilista (su ocupación). Mariska es viuda y tiene dos hijos. Es escritora, poeta y oradora de temas motivacionales. Forma parte de la junta directiva de Ghana Organisation for Learning and Development, (GOLD), organización sin fines lucrativos inscrita en el Reino Unido y cuyo objetivo es asistir a mujeres y niños de las zonas rurales de Ghana. Fundó el Yes Group Ghana, un grupo motivacional dedicado a emancipar a la juventud.
Los poemas de Mariska han sido publicados varias veces en www.oneghanaonevoice. com, un sitio web de poesía, así como también en Jambo, revista de África Oriental. También se ha presentado en tertulias de radio en las emisoras Yfm y Citi fm, y por televisión con Viasat 1 en One Show. Asimismo ha leído sus poemas en Londres en el encuentro motivacional “Find your voice”. Su primer libro, The Secret to detoxifying your life and your love” se puede obtener en http://www lulu.com, una colección de poemas recogidos en el libro Rhythms of poetry in motion, igualmente disponible a través de Lulu. Actualmente escribe un guión cinematográfico, una novela y una colección de cuentos infantiles. Recientemente ofreció en el Instituto Goethe una lectura del libro que ha de publicar pronto, intitulado “A Widow must not Speak”, evento organizado por el Writers Project of Ghana.
AMO A GHANA
Desde el instante en que pisé su tierra
El instante en que escuché los diferentes sonidos,
El calor que sacudió mi rostro me hizo comprender
Que había encontrado mi lugar.
Cada retorno a esta tierra mía
Me hace amarla de un modo que no alcanzo a definir.
Los diversos matices de la gente,
El bullicio de las calles,
Los temerarios conductores de autobuses
Las chicas kaya en las calles.
La comida de los ventorrillos,
El colorido de los ropajes,
Las sonrisas en los rostros de las niñas
Los multicolores baldes acarreando el agua que da la vida.
El calor del sol mañanero
Las gallinas y las cabras prestas a correr,
Hasta los mosquitos cantan antes de picar,
Los aromas del aire,
La mirada de los niños jugando sin temores
Y como, presas de cierta urgencia, todas las aves en vuelo
La música plena de vida
El golpe de los potentes tambores,
El repicar de las campanas de la iglesia
Los cantos nocturnales de la hermandad cristiana
Los llamados a oración de las mezquitas
Los amplificadores de hifi chillones y escandalosos
Las multitudes siempre vitoreando
Los mercados siempre bulliciosos.
Amo a Ghana,
La solidaridad cuando estás de duelo,
La camaradería cuando celebras,
Los buenos días a gritos de extraños en la calle
Aun si van demorados y de prisa
¡Oh, amo a Ghana!
El país de la vasta cultura,
De la vasta risa,
De la vasta música
De la vasta tradición
Amo a Ghana,
La comida tan colorida,
La sopa de Palma, de intenso rojo anaranjado,
El Kontomire misteriosamente verde,
El Shito, negro como la noche,
El Gari, amarillo como el sol,
El Kokonte, marrón como la tierra,
Cómo sentir tristeza
Con alimentos multicolores que te asombran.
Amo a Ghana, mi país
Gente de culturas diferentes
Tribus diferentes
Dialectos diferentes
Vidas diferentes,
Todo revuelto
En una gran maceta,
Entrelazados como las raíces de la margosa.
Yendo cada uno por la vida como un bache de la calle,
Arriba abajo – dentro fuera, arriba abajo, arriba abajo.
Amo a Ghana, mi país,
Una región de añejas y nuevas tradiciones
Que conforman el gusto nacional
La vida rodeada de pujantes mujeres trabajadoras
Las matriarcas fuertes y activas
Las que perduran desde tiempos pasados
Su influjo siempre circundante, como el de las
corrientes subterráneas a lo largo del río, nunca visible
pero impactante una vez hallado.
Amo a Ghana,
La paciencia de la gente en largas filas como
los milpiés
Filas de autobuses
Filas para votar
Filas para el agua
Filas para comer
Avanzando, arrastrando los pies cansados
Amo a Ghana, mi país,
El ajetreo,
El bullicio,
Los ritmos de vida,
Latiendo
No puedo vivir sin Ghana, mi país
Amo a Ghana,
El mar tan azul,
Las arenas tan blancas,
El sol tan caliente,
Los árboles verdes y rectos,
Si prosigo con este amor mío
Seguiré hablando hasta la noche .... pero
¡Oh, cómo amo a Ghana!
[Traducción del Inglés al español: Isabel Guevara]
I LOVE GHANA
From the moment my feet touched the ground
The moment I heard the different sounds,
The heat that hit my face made me know
I’d found my place.
Every trip back to this country of mine
Makes me love it, in a way I can’t define.
The different shades of people,
The hustle in the street,
The reckless bus drivers,
The kaya girls in the street.
The food by the roadside,
The colours of the clothes,
The smiles in the faces of young girls
Carrying life giving water in colourful buckets.
The hot early morning sun
The chickens and goats all out to run,
Even the mosquitoes make music before they bite,
The smells in the air,
The sight of children playing without worries
And birds, all around in flight in some kind of hurry.
The music filled with life
The drums beating with powerful might,
The church bells a ringing
The night songs of Christian brethren
The mosque cries a calling
The hi fi’s loud and blaring
The crowds always cheering
The markets always bustling.
I love Ghana,
The solidarity when you mourn,
The companionship when you celebrate,
The shouts of good morning from strangers in the street
even when they were late and rushed off their feet.
Oh I love Ghana,
The country of rich culture,
Of Rich laughter,
Of Rich music
Of Rich tradition
I love Ghana,
The food so colourful,
The Palm soup rich red orange,
The Kontomre mysteriously green,
The Shito black as night,
The Gari yellow as the sun,
The Kokonte brown as earth,
How can you feel so blue
With colourful food that will overwhelm you.
I love my country Ghana
People of different cultures
Different tribes,
Different dialects,
Different lives,
All thrown together
In a great pot,
Intertwined like the roots of the neem tree.
Each passing through life like a pothole in the street,
Up down – in out, up down, up down.
I love my country Ghana,
A place with cultures old and new
Make up the national stew
Life surrounded by powerful hardworking women
The matriarchs alive and strong
The ones who continued from times long gone
Their influences always around, like the undercurrents of a river rolling along, never visible but strongly felt once encountered.
I love Ghana
The patience of the people queuing in long lines like millipedes
Lines for busses
Lines to vote
Lines for water
Lines to eat
Moving along with the shuffling of tired feet
I love my country Ghana,
The hustle,
The bustle,
The rhythms of life,
Pulsating along
I can’t live without my country Ghana
I love Ghana,
The sea so blue,
Sands so white,
Sun so hot,
Trees green and just right,
If I continue with this love of mine
I’ll talk on and on into the night….but
Oh how I love Ghana
The Deer Hunt
The night before the deer hunt
There was excitement in the house.
We stood upstairs looking down onto the courtyard
While men and women went in and out,
Sweat pouring off their brows.
This was my family house,
The meeting place where all the hunters came to prepare,
Fixing their hunting gear and choosing what to wear,
Where women came to cook and where the elders assembled
To perform their ancient rituals
Not written down in any book.
Sleep would elude us that night.
We sat up eating plantain and groundnuts,
White corn dough, hot pepper and shrimps
Slices of sugar cane pulled between our teeth,
Drinking cold minerals while the men had their beers
And something that made them spit.
Dawn was creeping in when the hunters assembled.
They gathered around in their hunting clothes
With sticks, guns, cutlasses, bows and arrows
Looking fierce and frightening
To a young child like me.
The noise and drums and shouts
And scraping of metal on the cement floor
Sent shivers up my spine.
Then suddenly they left,
Marching and shouting out of the yard,
The women standing behind.
Then silence!
A different kind of noise arose,
Women laughing, cooking, sweeping,
Children running around playing, shouting
Trying to get pieces of food when mothers were not looking.
Throughout their work they waited to hear
Did our men catch the elusive deer!
For us the children it was now one big party,
The smells going out into the yard made us
Lick our lips and act like scattered chicks,
Our mothers lashed out when we went near the food
With their sticks shaped like little whips,
But we had no fear the men were not here,
What could our mothers do when their hands were full
With pots and pans and other things too
Time was getting on and all were anxious,
The silence became like the calm before the storm.
A distant shout, the trampling of feet,
The drumming and shouting swept us off the ground.
The men came jogging with branches so green
The deer held high looked frightened with big eyes so brown.
Our colours raised high,
Our men danced full of life.
The women gave shouts in the yard:
We were first! We caught it first!
Good luck will be with us the next year!
We all rushed out and followed the crowd
To the chief’s palace to claim our reward
Now the festival gun was fired,
The hunt was over, the men looked tired.
But this was the beginning for us,
Our Company had won!
There were now so many festivities to be done
Throughout the day we were full of cheer
Going in and out of each others houses
While the men sat around and drank beer
We the children started to doze
As the night brought things to a close.
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