Je suis l’Afrique
I am not a country
I am the vast planes of the Sahara
Filled with orange curvy sand dunes
Piled together by the swift night’s wind,
Creating a living work of art.
I am the ebony curves swaying so effortlessly within the thin kanga,
The legs that walk tirelessly every single day on the hot scorching sun,
The tall backs that hold on to their little ones with pride,
The head steadily holding a bucket of water not leaving a single spill on the ground
The callused hands that hold on to the pile of wood with such strength,
Finalizing the portrait of a woman.
I am the ever flowing Victoria Falls crashing on the rocks beneath so violently
But yet so smoothly
Causing the light to reflect, refract and disperse onto the thousands of minuscule water drops,
Forming a perfect ring of the seven collective colors
Creating a refreshing echo showering through you
I am within the silent cry of a child in the chilly night
Who so desperately needs something to put in his tummy
To the point where his voice is gulped down to satisfy the intense hunger
Leaving only constant silent tear drops
That cannot be wiped away
I am the contours and detours that separate country from country,
Leaving every country with its own culture and history
And a select choice of languages from the 2000 available varieties
Every parcel of land within me has its own soil color, type and composition
Every people being similar yet not identical
Filled with different backgrounds and origins.
I dance to my own rhythm,
The drum being my percussionist set
Booming out beats that make your toes tap
And the Marimba being my classic piano
Evoking my moonlight swings.
I am the young girl that rises above the plastic stereotypes,
And stands up from the right that she has always been deprived of,
Slowly rising like a lily form the muddy red sand
Unveiling her intellectual power within her.
Je suis l’Afrique
I am not what you want me to be
Je suis ce que je suis
And I am not a Country.
No comments:
Post a Comment