Ekow Nimako with sculpture. Ekow Nimako, *The Sunrise Dancer* (circa 1358), 7.5" x 31" x 41", LEGO® bricks, 2022.

Building Black Civilizations: Journey of 2,000 Ships continues artist Ekow Nimako’s afrofuturistic reimagining of ancient African kingdoms. Using LEGO® bricks as his medium, Nimako explores the mysterious 14th century sea voyage of the predecessor of Mansa Musa, ruler of the Mali Empire. According to legends, Abu Bakr II was an intrepid explorer, abdicated his throne and took 2,000 ships on an expedition into the Atlantic, but was never to return or heard from again. Some accounts suggest the massive fleet reached as far as the Americas, but where they went beyond this is still unknown.

Combining architecture, historical accounts, and fantastical possibilities, Nimako transcends the geometric form of LEGO® to recreate the epic voyage. And in doing so, he presents an uninterrupted and uncoopted narrative of Black civilizations and imagines liberated futures.

Artist ↑
Ekow Nimako

ESSAY ↑

Atlantic Current of Gold
By Peace Akintade

I wonder if the Ocean
ever gets tired of sinking ships.
Whether angelical bandits find golds,
in the bottom of a king's spirits and souls.

A sense of Eclipse surround me with music,
Under the guise of being friendly.
Wide awake, my body cracks its sorries,
While the tortured sea-salt hugged me.
“The rocks”, I warn to the Sea,
“Tell me your secrets on how you swim.”
How do you cope with the Marine intruders,
Who watch your mental descent into madness.

I wonder if Tears dream of being Puddles.
And if I can ever love the Storm,
If I knew it was the Sea asking for help.

If I knew it was Water waiting for a listener. 

Two thousand ships. 
Lost and found on the doors of Asamando.

When Tides reside back to the Ocean.
Do they leave legacy and culture?
So are the oral traditions left to poets.
So are the fleeting moments of happiness that leave us with wisdom.

The Sea, she cuddles the minds of children,
Turns them slowly into the hands of corrupted majesties.
Leaves them with sinking desires of a fair world.

Let them live, the Nsamanfo screams.
Laughing into the ears of apathetic sinners.

Close your ears, children,
do not listen to the secrets of the wind.
teaching insensitive violence.

Humans, do you know Greed?
know the footprints it leaves behind?
you try to fall gracefully into its loving arms,
inhaling spices and cinnamon scent.

You want to know Greed's voice.
low and rumbling through their chests.
all around you, their scent tickles your neck.
The bubbling happiness of Love and Greed.
You only know happiness, my child.
to ignore the simple passions buried in our mind.
to succumb to a drunken state of apathy. 
to lose the privilege of being a child at sea. 

Close your ears, children,
  listen carefully to the warnings in the distance. 
Karma parades in yellow, 
and swirls ripples into your mind. 
You only know happiness my child,
Can you forgive the spite behind Greed?

Blame me you angelical bandits.
Are you ready for society’s heavy errand?
Round the metallic halo, lay lo 
sympathetic mud-splattered fadings,
tribal marks fading from your buttoned nose.

Like a passenger pigeon, 
ready to be forgotten?
Do you remember me?

Angel’s halo, they glow up 
like a mildewed, fungi discoloration 
whitish growth in a symbiotic relationship.

With Nsamanfo, crying for worthy souls. 
It varies, my love for you.
It varies, my worth to enter Asamando.

Two thousand ships. 
Lost and found on the doors of Asamando.

Will I be worthy? 
Will I be worthy? 

As worthy as the ocean 
As worthy as the sea? 
Will I be air, will I be wind?

Moving with the wind, freedom.
Only the wind moves out of bounds. 
Only the wind lives long enough 
to become an ancestor.
Frolicking,
Symbolizing a trigger of light. 
Divided forces making ways with my leg.

Mother, 
should I crawl into Greed's arms again?
and eclipse into sanity. 
They sneak up on me.

Imagine the relief of confidence.
The steady hands of gratification
Shaking the shackles away. 
Imagine your demons weakening,
Removing their influence, 
Allowing you to breathe.
Imagine the bed at Asamando,
Reduced to a place of rest. 

Mansa Musa, gold-sepia black skin
And silver lips bleed gold coins.
A water- walker with a flair for dramatics 
What has been done, can not be undone.

The moment stars formed beauty
Decorated leaves with lines of gold. 
The trees mimicking the voice of angels.

The moment Mansa Musa, gold-sepia black skin.
Fought greed with anger,
The Sea knew our name.

The moment our Sailors, silver lips, salted kiss. 
Fought greed with Tarte. 
The Sea knew our taste.

Fight me with racing tongues. 
Fight me with apologetic silhouettes. 
Fight me with love and fruitful torture.
Fight Greed with all good things. 
Fight Greed with the innocence of a child.

Fight,
And the Sea shall know survivors.
Shall know the names of ghosts.
Shall know the wonders of silver tongues.

Silver tongues have seen too many decays.
Yet water-walkers live for the sense of discovering.

When the sea brings all their body parts to the shore,
Then you might call them brilliant.
Might adorn the ghosts with sweet nothings,
Then you might refer to our ancestors as angels.
For only an angel has complete control

Until then, simply call the two thousand ships a journey
For they are the travelers that might find love.
Might find greed.
When the sea finds the body parts,
We will see the ghosts of improvements.
For improvement makes us humans

In Asamando

I, the Nsamanfo, 
Have made the mushroom my wine.
The wine taster my maid.
I am my worst worshipper.
And sacrifice my smooth hands for a razor.
Shaving away follicles of imperfections.
Perfecting the way the sky seems endless.
And I wonder what a puddle looked like 

I imagine they looked like teardrops,
Falling from my  father's face 
the day I was born. 
Landing directly on my gold splattered skin,
Like a birthmark, Marking me as worthy.

Rejected rain

Mansa Musa, gold-sepia black skin
Are we worthy of Asamando? 
After we die, Mansa Musa 
Are we worthy of rest?
Can the River cuddle us?
Will the Nsamanfo greet us?

Will gold bleed from our fingertips.
Flow down our shaking hands, 
As we wave at the passengers, 
Of the two thousand ships.