“Nombreux n’ont pas de l’eau.
Ils manquent tellement des choses.
Ils te dironts ‘l’Afrique, c’est dangereux’,
mais tout ca, c’est des mots.” ~Maitre Gims

Today I was homesick for the first time since I’ve been in Dakar. I tried to comfort myself by listening to John Mayer, Jennifer Paige and Les Nubians, all which remind me of warm spring and summer days in various spots north of 59th street in Manhattan.

But then there was this, this song I stumbled upon when I was searching for just a little angry French rap. It reminded me of zouk and dancehall and reggaeton and zouglou and all of the music that runs hereditarily through my veins. It also reminded me of 116th Street and Frederick Douglas, and Eastern Parkway on Labor Day, and some of my favorite memories in Chicago, of the Camerounian restaurant that one time in Paris, dusty, windy…