Ketty Nivyabandi

#poetry #KonyaShamsrumi

#poetry #KonyaShamsrumi


…I remember you.
Before your feather-words. Before your paper-sons.
Before your gaping ground, your wandering children.
Before your dignity in crumbs.
For sale. On the sidewalks of…

Ketty Nivyabandi, born in 1978, is a Burundian poet and human rights activist.

Her poems have often reflected her experience as a woman living through conflict and speak to her commitment to social justice through the themes of humanity, love, femininity, and the impact of war on individuals and communities. She most notably represented her country at the Poetry Parnassus in 2012, held on the side-lines of the London Olympics. For many, it was the first time they would hear of her. 

She gained further prominence in 2015 when she led a women-only protest in Burundi to protest then-President Pierre Nkurunziza’s bid for an unconstitutional third tenure. This marked her as a key figure in the global fight for justice and democracy and made her a target for her country’s ruling elite. The ensuing threats to her life forced her to flee to Canada where she continues her advocacy work in exile.Nkurunziza would later die in 2020 of COVID-related complications. 

Her exquisite poem Remembering Burundi captures poignant memories of her homeland. 

Most of her poetry can be found on her Tumblr profile @kettynivyabandi.

Remembering Burundi by Ketty Nivyabandi

I remember you.
A spark tearing the blue sky. Seeds flirting with clouds. Men confiding in stars.
A song held warm and snug, in dreamy backs. Women smelling of butter.
A swollen breast. The milky way. Dew quenching the splintered feet.
 
I remember you.
A dream. Kneaded with laterite and steel.
Proud men, chests bursting full. Spears, hoes laying still on the moist ground. Walking, naked, to the sun.
 
Butterfly girls. Scattering, flying. Soaking the heavens with colours.
 
Smothered laughs. Messy laughs. Free laughs. Laughter in thousands.
 
I remember you.
Poised-people. Truth-people. Masterly people. Cracked-but-whole people.
Jade, fleeing beauty.  A jealous, wild, bewitching beauty.
The kind to burn a prophet’s eyes...
                        A tiny scoop of land that once dared defy the Reich.
 
I remember you.
Before your feather-words. Before your paper-sons.
Before your gaping ground, your wandering children.
Before your dignity in crumbs.
For sale. On the sidewalks of famished boulevards.
 
I remember you.
In the furor of my nappy hair.
In the ink snaking down these trembling hands.
In my precious dreams, powdered with dust.
In my sweats. In my screams. In my fevers. In my eyes.
Dangling wide open, from the crescent moon.
 
I remember you.
Yesterday still.
Tomorrow (of course).
This morning. I don’t know.
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A proficient article writer, research analyst and copy editor. I have loved books for as long as I can remember. From the smell of books just out of their wraps to the feel when I run my fingertips down the spine, the fonts and sizes, the various ways cover and internal elements are arranged as much as the places books take me to and the people I meet within those pages. Archiving poetry is a special passion.