Khadijah Ibrahim
United Kingdom
Khadijah Ibrahim
In a lilting Caribbean accent and sometimes patois Khadija conjures up a character you can not only see vividly emerging in your mind, but a sassy one that makes you smile as she lays out the fine details of the style in which she wants to be buried. The poet’s a wit and humour conveyed so beautifully in her telling also holds a tenderness for the woman she describes, making her family...perhaps for some instantaneously recognisable as an aunty or grandmother who has made her peace with the inevitability of death and had decided to make it a grand exit not a pity party!
BIOGRAPHY
Khadijah Ibrahiim is of Jamaican parentage, born in the city of Leeds, England. Educated at the Univ... More >
When My Time Comes
‘The lord is my shepherd I shall not want,He lays me down to sleep in green pastures’Mi dear chile,we are lvin’ in our last daysso when mi time come,I waant to be buried in mi red suit,the one I just buy.I buy a new one every five yearsjust for de occasion,I like to keep with the fashionand dis suit favour de roses in my garden –you know how I love dem so.So look here, child,when me time comes I waant youto rememberdis is de suit I waant to be buried in,de red one right here,trailing from neck to hemwid beads and silk embroideryjust like royalty,a colour of importance.I saw de queen wearing one just like it pon TV.So remember wat mi show you;see how it tailor stitched in and outwith good threads,like mi granny use to do.She bury in red too.And when de Lord callsI want to be wearing a red suit,de one I handpick especially –I walk de whole day till carn bun mi toes.I like to look good at all times,no-one is going to sayI never dress away till de end of my days.Mi buy mi suit from Marks and Spencer,all my underwear too,put dem in de trunkwith all mi fine nightwear and tings,fold in camphor balls.Mi ole woman 75 years just gone,but mi a no fool,mi make all mi plans;out down insurancefe horse-drawn carriage,gospel singers, saxophone player,and a red rose for each and every one.Mi no waant bury a Englandmi waant mi ashes spread cross de RiverThames, make de waves teckmi back to which part mi did come from.And when all and sundries come to the house,start dig, stake claim to what dem waant,to wat dem no waant,when tears flare and tongues clash difference,I want my daughter to rememberdis is the red suit I want to be buried in,the red one right here.
