My Father’s Blue Sky

A tender and intimate childhood memory transforms two clay figures into the faces of the author's father and uncle. Through the recollection of an impromptu dance in a Senegalese courtyard, the story celebrates the healing power of Gewel music, the energy of Sabar drums, and the spirit of Teranga as an emotional sanctuary against loneliness and the cold weight of nostalgia in Italy.

STORIES FROM ITALY

6/24/20261 min read

There is a specific summer evening from my childhood that I will never forget, and it is the very evening that guided my hands while I was shaping the clay. My father had come home dead tired from work, his face worn out by the strain of a scorching day. But the moment my uncle walked into the courtyard with his kora tucked under his arm, everything changed.

My uncle is a Gewel, a griot. In our family, he is the keeper of our history. Without saying a word, upon seeing my uncle, dad stood up, went inside, and changed out of his work clothes. He put on his finest boubou—a traditional robe of a deep, vibrant blue, just like the Senegalese sky on a cloudless day.

My uncle began to pluck the strings of the kora and started to sing. He wasn't just singing any song; he was singing the story of our grandfather, the hard work of my father, and then, he spoke my name. When a Gewel sings your name, something vibrates deep inside you; all tiredness vanishes, and you feel proud just to exist. My father looked at me, smiled with all his teeth, took my hands, and we began to dance. In a heartbeat, the courtyard filled up: my mother and aunts came out singing, neighbors brought the Sabar drums, and we children ran among the feet of the adults dancing, surrounded by an explosion of colorful dresses and laughter. That night, I truly understood what Teranga means: the power to transform hardship into a celebration, the certainty that no one is ever alone.

Now that I am here in Italy, when it gets cold outside and nostalgia tightens around my throat, I look at these two little figures with hats that I modeled. To me, they carry the faces of my father and my uncle. I close my eyes, I hear the kora again, and my courtyard in Senegal lights up right here, inside my room.

HERS

Funded by the European Union. Views and opinions expressed are however those of the author(s) only and do not necessarily reflect those of the European Union or the European Education and Culture Executive Agency (EACEA). Neither the European Union nor EACEA can be held responsible for them.

Contact

hers@odyssea.com