“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.