I could see it like yesterday. A radiant little girl beaming with a smile like sunshine, running into the house, carrying our cat, Africa, into the living room. Africa had an all black coat with a perfect diamond at his throat. Sami was singing to the cat a lullaby (singing): “Go to sleep, my baby.” It was the cutest thing. But Sami, who was just a little bit bigger than the cat, was holding the poor animal around the neck and he was trying to get away. Who would think that that tiny little voice would one day touch thousands as Goldii, would bang out raps of power, brilliance and wit. But that day, as Wadiya and I stifled our laughter, one of us asked, “Samiya, why are you choking Africa like that?” Her smile would only brighten as she replied, “This is my baby,” as she relaunched her lullaby. Africa, mercifully, would escape her hold and flee to the basement, hiding under the washing machine. Samiya, nonplussed, would continue her song, and years later, many of us would sing along with her or rap to her beats.
She comes from a family of music lovers and musicians. It’s said that you see things in a child that you’ll see in the adult, maybe. But I think a lot of us lose that spark we carried as kids because the world is hard and cold. Samiya never lost her spark. When she smiled, the sun came into the room. A radiant child became a radiant young woman; confident, secure, able; the loving, caring mother she became, full of courage, full of fight. When I saw Dolly, I saw Samiya as a child again. That same spirit in new eyes. When we leave this plane of existence, only love remains. Like fragrance from a flower, it can’t be touched, but it can be sensed. We will love and remember Samiya forever. I love you, baby.
These commentaries are brought to you by Noelle Hanrahan of Prison Radio.
