Set the alarm
Lock the doors
Lock the windows
Lock the shutters
Find the cricket bat – “put it by your bed”
Say goodnight to mom and dad
Although young, not naïve
I knew every night had the possibility of being my last
A routine that is now muscle memory.
Fear –
You may think
But life –
Normal for me.
Wake up
Turn off the alarm
Unlock the doors
Open the windows
Open the shutters
Put the cricket bat in the cupboard
Never being able to be left alone at home. Unwillingly dragged from store to store.
But – that’s the thing –
People don’t know the real Her,
They know the exquisite scenery, the unforgettable wildlife
They don’t know… But I do.
Because She is my home
Because being in constant fear for my life –
is normal.
Confused –
What do I tell people about Mother when they ask?
The person who raised me, taught me how to be grateful, how to ride a bike, how to love.
Do I tell them? Will I scare them?
Although hidden beneath the tyranny – I would say –
the bloodshed
the faces of malnourished children left for dead on the side of the road the poverty struck soil the corruption the greed the hunger the death the separation of class and race
Although a place feared –
Africa.
My Africa –
Whose sunshine you feel ignited in your soul
My Africa –
Whose smile is irresistibly contagious
My Africa –
Whose heart lies in the grassy terrain
The golden dunes of sand
The never-ending mountain tops
My Africa –
Who is the heart of various people
cultures
languages
All who call Her home.
She is –
Where my heart lies even if I am thousands of miles away
Where my mind wanders from day to day.
Her air, instantly calls you
Her smell, instantly smelt
Welcoming you ever so dearly –
Home.
Like all good mothers,
She is the one who can handle both the tranquil and turmoil,
the love and war.
She is my home. She is who I fear of disappointing.
My Africa –
is beautiful.
Home sick...