Written piece
Braiding my hair
Jamen Oketcho
Uganda
About this piece
I reflect on the legacy of the transatlantic slave trade, where families were separated and Caribbean communities like Antigua and Barbuda were shaped by its impact. It follows a woman sharing generational loss and history with her granddaughter.
While braiding my hair
my grandmother spoke of borders
she never crossed.
The seventies taught her
how to disappear into the bushes.
The children she nurtured
became her home,
hoping tomorrow
would be kinder to them.
She stayed after I lost my own.
Her stories left me wondering
whether my blood remembered
another name.
One story stayed with me:
the blood the ocean stole.
Silence made room for her mother,
even without a crown,
a woman measured beyond beauty.
Her brother,
running kingdom affairs,
prayed with scripture
but slept beside tradition,
a man raised in humility.
When our blood
became worth silver,
“we are losing our own people,” he said,
watching chiefs count silver
where names once mattered.
Sides were chosen.
Soon family stood on divided ground.
Her brother chose the right thing,
but at what cost?
Men disappeared
after questioning the king.
Mourning entered homes
that spoke too loudly.
My mother lost status,
learning exile through sandstorms,
an outsider to those loyal to the king.
Her brother
became something owned.
The last time
they saw each other,
they were leaving the land
they called home.
The tales across the Atlantic
were no longer stories.
One heard the verdicts,
the other wore the chains.
My daughter,
you have been my comfort
through these hard times.
The uncertainty
reminds me of my mother
telling me her stories
while braiding my hair.
Days I wish maybe he
crossed the Atlantic,
raised children untouched by chains,
lived long enough
to become somebody’s home.
A wish that somewhere
someone carried what the ocean
failed to take.
Her frail hands
braided history into my hair,
a family I never met.
The Atlantic breeze reminded me
how much the ocean kept.
With one final wish,
I scattered her remains
into the waters that took the soul
of one of her own.