I am an African child, a young Black Man and this is my story:
I stood there in my house leaning with my back against the cold wall, sweating and breathing heavily. There was no way out. I could hear them, the boots, outside, many of them, getting closer and closer, th rumbling boottrots and the clank sounds of their guns as they moved in to surround me.
Outside, many began screaming; men, women, children; then the rattling sounds of gun fire, and then silence, and then the boots.
I had only one chance to escape. A trap door in the floor under the mat at my feet.
A narrow tunnel underground ran for about a kilometre, coming out at the river. I could then follow the river to safety where my family would be waiting for me. My life, my country, my friends, my soul - my Earth, my Trees, my God, all gone, I too must go.
A lot of tears, a lot of cheers -of joy and happiness feel my heart. My family was safe as was I, but I am weary and I am weak -and my family smiles and gives me strength. I get a job and work very hard and feed my wife and raise my kids.
I am strong with my feet firm on the ground. I take a seat and look to the raising sun. But my back burns red, as hot as the sun with flames that drain me of my strength - and I will turn and face the flames or let them drain my strength away:
"I am a young black man, an African Child.
I have a home.
I am tall and strong,
I have the heart of a child.
I am confident.
I am dark and
I am smart, I am beautiful.
I can smile, I am smiling now,
I need to rest for I am home.
I am tough, I am strong and yes I am home.
Rejoice for I am home."
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My reaction to the joyous mood that came from women sweeping the street of Juba in preparation for the South Sudan inaugural celebrations (written on 7th July 2011):
Ululation feels my heart
with jubilant jubilation of joyous praise.
And I dance around
waving my hands to the ground and to the sun.
.------------------------------------------------------------In the same breath Some words for the Somalians suffering as they migrate to avoid starvation into the Kenyan and Ethiopian refugee camps(Thursday 7th July 2011 the title evoked by reports of dieing children):
WE ARE STILL KIDS
The birds are drooling, the flies are about,
the trees the earth and the riverbeds are dry.
The sun is up and it is hot;
Its light burns white and reveals it all.
Life is weary and withers away,
And whimpers and chokes in a dry decay.
And, some are still in this arid environment,
- ashes to ash and dust to dust -