“Song for Almeyda,” III.

Rebel?
You call Ioio rebel?
Me?
I am scribe, me. Free by
Benedito. Free by rebel-
monk
Who bought Ioio freedom. I am
scribe, me.
I know secret language, me. What
secret language, you
                         Ask?
Mende, man.
Kpele.
Bamum.
Calabar.
I know Old World secret
language, man, real African
language. Old African
language.
And I write them down like so.
But speaking, I speak broken
                        Portuguese.
And what I say, what say I? I 
listen, me.
And what say you, what say you?
Tell me your tale, man. I
listen to

Men tale and women tale, eh,
                        Senhores and
                        Mulheres,
They always tell me Palmares story
And Zumbi story.
And Ganga Zumba tale. What
tale you tell me?
I am Ioio.
I am scribe, me.
I speak broken Portuguese, yes,
But I know secret language, as if I
born to write them.
You is fool, Ioio, Portuguese
master he say. And I write secret
language with a tamarind stick
Till the stick broke. Trying 
to outsmart the
                        Master, eh?
But the master,
He always well-guarded by
                        Soldiers.
He hire he own soldiers. When the
new slaves come, the new soldiers
come.
Tell me your tale, man. Your
name? 
Anninho, eh?
I don’t call you liar.
Don’t call me liar.
I hear that name.

I hear them other say your
                        Name.
That your true name?
Free one he come among us,
                        They say.
Free one, he come fight with
                        Us, they say.
Free African, he on
                        Horseback.
Free one, he
Jeopardize he own freedom. Fight
with Palmaristas,
                        Fight with us.
They say your name and they
                        Say the mulher
                        Name.
They say them name:
Anninho and Almeyda. They
say them name. Eh, I speak
broken
                        Portuguese,
                        Me.
Don’t mean I don’t
                        Understand what 
                        you say, man.
You want know my story? I am
Ioio,
Born in Mina, traded for
tobacco, and then it’s on
to Port of Bahia, eh, it’s
on to Port of

                        Pernambuco, it’s
on to Port of Rio,
But they don’t know what I
                        Am, eh,
Ioruba or
Ewe,
Hausa or
Ashanti,
Bantu or
Mandinga,
Or Sudanese.
They don’t know who Ioio. Ioio
the ordinary little
                        Negrito,
Traded for tobacco, he,
Chewing on a tamarind stick.
Tobacco, it make me sneeze. No
Ethiopian prince, me,
But they catch me in tribe
                        War, make
slavery, shrimp they call
me,
Monkey in the tamarind tree, him
one little negro, 60,000
                        Reis, you
                        Joke,
Trade him for tobacco and
                        Sweet brandy,
Master, him see me
                        Scribbling
                        Secret

                        Language, he
say, Ioio, you most
                        Devious little
                        Fool,
Ioio, you most dubious
                        Little fool.
Him give me lashings.
Rebel-monk, that Benedito, him
see the lashings.
Him a one big man, that is
                        The truth.
I think him there lash me
                        More.
Him buy me with gold
                        Shavings,
Make Ioio free.
And now I here in these
                        Cavern, and
now I write down
                        Everyone story in
these secret language. You know
these secret
                        Writing, you?
Eh, who you to know these
                        Secret
                        Writing?
Eh, who you to make good
                        Sense of
these imbroglio? Wise
man he say such one as 
you
He come here these cavern make
good sense of these

Imbroglio
I am Ioio, me.
I speak pidgin Portuguee. Tell
me your tale, Senhor.
I know already who you are.