The Ether

Tujiangalie is sweet reminiscence, glorious resistance, and God’s merciful grace packaged into three minutes and forty-one seconds. My ears were first blessed by the melodies of Sauti Sol as a result of their classic hit, Short and Sweet. My family had just arrived at our village home in Nandi County. As we passed the unfinished gate and the small tree seedlings that would eventually grow past my height, I met the residents of my mother’s hometown for the first time. A speaker bellowed “hapo ulipokamata nafeel so sweet,” and I hummed to myself “I believe carpal tunnel feels so sweet” instead. It was never important to me that the lyrics were correct; as long as the general tune and verbiage blended with the crowd’s impassioned crooning, I was content. 

I was eleven when I realized a lack of fluency in my native tongue would inhibit my relationships in this place of refuge. A small boy, no older than ten, knocked on our bedroom window one day, mouthing something entirely incoherent on the other side. I unlocked it, letting him peek his head inside our miniature fortress, and he seemed to ask us a question. It was then, on the other side of a metaphorical barrier of clear glass, that I felt truly discordant for the first time. Startled by my own incongruity, I shut the window. 

 I wondered how I could remedy the two portions of my identity into something less jarring. There was no solution, so I entombed Tujiangalie and Eva Cherry, a classic mispronunciation of my last name, deeply within the mastaba of my soul. Over the years, the two mummies unraveled their linen until their unwelcome heads peaked out of my perfectly layered tomb. 

I knew it was time to relinquish “Eva Cherry” for “Eva Cheraisi” when I began to share my culture with others, and instead of greeting my offerings with the horror that I had anticipated, they graciously accepted them. Coffeehouse, the performance space for select Communicative Arts majors to showcase their works to the entirety of the Governor’s Honors Program, was the accumulation of a few weeks worth of literary exploration. From my oeuvre, I chose a slam poem that examined the intersection of my African identity with my initial experience at the summer program. Sharing this poem meant giving a piece of myself away to the audience, so I shook and shivered until it was my turn. I began the piece hesitantly. Then, I heard snaps and ooo’s and ahh’s and YES!; they accepted my offering with a gentle promise of understanding, and I ended the piece with a standing ovation. Afterward, a girl approached me with tears in her eyes and said that she had never felt more seen. My heart still aches with the shock of abundant acceptance.

 Now I stand on the precipice of novelty with pride–gratitude for all parts of Eva Cheraisi. From the struggles with my native language to the poetry that flows freely from fingertip to paper, I am one, I am all, I am Tujiangalie. Rising from the ashes of clashing identity dysmorphia and embracing the duality offered by my DNA.

Great article about the meaning behind “Tujiangalie”: https://wambuainks.wordpress.com/2021/08/22/tujiangalie-song-review/