"unicef" poems
Home is where the heart is but the heart is a broken place.
I hate
how loud I must barely scream so that people can see my face:
I am dark
and this is a time of shadows.
Sometimes what worries me most about us
is not that we are forced to carry guns and **** our own mothers
is not that we are pulled from our classrooms back into our homesteads
is not that some of our leaders feast while we become skinny UNICEF models
is not that if only one molecule of my DNA was different I could have lived without ever knowing how to read even a single word
is not even that the smallest of things can wipe out entire villages in an instant-
mosquitoes, viruses, locusts; slave ships.
Sometimes what worries me most is that
my headphones carry more sounds of strange places
than my heart will ever know- that not even my brothers and sisters
sold off to those strange places ever knew, as their children are hung off
the trees of Jim Crow and we call them strange fruit, and that
maybe our first president didn't marry a white lady; the white lady might have married him.
Sometimes what worries me most is that for just over eighteen years
of seeing thinking feeling breathing being I couldn't
have ever told you what Africa meant to me past the occasional 'dumela'
to my mother's mother but never, never did I know or now know or will know my mother's mother's mother's mother's mother
because
she can't fit inside the cellular America that I hold in my palm.
And this is why they call us lost.
Because home is where the heart is but the heart is a broken place.
One time, my five year old cousin said matter-of-factly
that black is ugly. In my Primary School days
everyone said I should stay out of the sun lest I get darker.
But
I'm here to tell you that I don't even bother wearing a sun-hat anymore.
I'm here to tell you that I don't cut my hair because to do so would feel like oppression.
I'm here to tell you how vivid and lovely and blessed I do feel to have been born in broken-heart home because at least it has soul.
I'm here to tell you that, yes, I do remember
that time when the whole world knew what to do about ****** and Bin Laden but never could get round to talking about Cecil John Rhodes.
I'm here to tell you that
Today, that conversation starts with a toppled statue.
Today, that conversation starts with my voice.
Today, this conversation starts with a poem which proclaims-
child I am, child I am, child I am, child I am, child I am-
that this is my day. This is my day.
The Day of the African Child.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 1:38 PM UTC
Yarinya!
Born into a life which gave you little or no choices.
Your basket of options had only oranges for sale and a tray to balance on your head.
Yarinya!
Your small feet tread the path baked hot by the mean African sun.
Yarinya!
Working to cater for the adult mouths of those who forged you.
Yarinya!
Life has so much to offer you but how your arms are deprived their right to reaching out
because they support the tray on your head.
Yarinya!
The rags you wear shall not mark you out for shame.
Yarinya!
Your kind have shaped the world for the better.
Yarinya!
I heard about another of your kind who once sold bread on the streets of Lagos.
They say she unconsciously walked into a picture
and for her, that was the beginning of a new story.
Yarinya!
The tray on your head shall not suppress the intellect hidden in your head.
Yarinya!
Until I find you, hold on to that tray and sell the best oranges you can find.
Until I find you, bear the blisters on your feet for lack of shoes.
Until I find you, keep your story alive on your lips.
When I find you, we'll sell your story, "Yarinya Mai Talle."
And the world will know that her children
deserve much more than just clean water and UNICEF endorsements
or a tray of hawker's items and a society dead to its conscience.
Yarinya!
Where ever you are,
On the streets of Italy or under the bridge in Lagos,
Under the "dogon yaro" tree in Kano or in your father's house in Brazil
Until I find you,
God keep you from those seeking to marry you at five
so they can wife you at eight.
*Yarinya-means "young female"
#DiariesOfAnAfricanChild #ChildMarriage #ModernSlavery #ChildProstitution #AwakenYourConscience #IfIWereYourChild #PhotosByOlumideOresugun #Liferadio101 #Energie
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 7:54 AM UTC
Seb's young fertile face beamed African royalty
even in the penury of this Nigerian refugee camp.
Her mother's downcast eyes shunned the camera's querying lens,
while Seb's, "I-love-you", eyes were welcoming.
Seb's eyes were as blossom-petaled obsidian pools,
each pierced by the light of a distant star.
Her blackness did not succumb to woeful displacement,
but shone with the promise of an overcoming spirit;
for a Mother's prayers were writ in the marrow of her bones.
Born with a tenacity to love,
her young heart leaped out through trusting inquisitive eyes.
Her tongue, budding out of rich dark faced soil, seemed eager
to taste the sweet juices that her spirited-eyes promised;
smiling, "l love you", behind barbed wired love-me-nots.
Seb was a child . . . full of joyful expectations.
A child who did not choose this world;
'tho born of a Spirit conceived to love . . .
to love the . . . hell . . . out from her world.
gv 4.2015 Word Hobo
~~~~~~
(Note: This piece came out of seeing this fascinating photograph
by Sebastian Rich, of Seb clinging to her Mother in a camp for displaced Nigerians.)
Link to this Photo of Seb and her Mother:
http://www.abc.net.au/news/2016-04-26/infectious-and-innocent-smiles-from-war-zones/7355958
Scroll down to Ninth Photo
Caption : A Nigerian child in a UNICEF clinic, who was finally on the road to a full recovery after suffering from severe acute malnutrition. Her unprompted smile filled my lens.
I would encourage all to visit the website of Sebastian Rich. His heart-gripping photography is incredibly moving and meaningful.
sabastianrichphotography.com.
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 8:23 AM UTC
to whom it may concern
i was given a rude remark by one of your door door people
as he approached my house in hawker, on saturday 13 june 2015
he made a ******** coment saying, don’t worry we are not going to rob you
it’s like he was put there to tease me or something, i found it very insulting
and if i knew his name, i would make sure he was sacked, i realise that it is
his word against mine, but he will never get anyone supporting unicef with that
attitude, i know it’s stupid to think he’ll get the sack, but he was terribly rude
you see, i am not an old stick in the mud, i love life, probably more than him
he shouldn’t be working for unicef, because when i said i ain’t interested in a normal way
he said oh buddy, settle down, i know that this was uncalled for, ok, i think you should
tell this man by looking in your book to see who was in hawker on 13 june 2015 and
let him know that, i hate him, i am not offended i am just concerned of your business
HE WAS RUDE
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 2:09 AM UTC
"Yeah, that's 'Almost' with an 'A', yup, kind like
'John Amos' but with a 't' on the end, also with
an 'l' between the 'a' and the 'm'..."
"Huh? Who's John Amos? jaysus feckin christ,
'Good Times'? The guy with the wide nostrils?
Bad example, sorry, let's move on..."
"...that's 'a' as in 'aardvark', 'l' as in... no no no, only
one 'a'... 'l' as in 'lemur', 'm' as in... 'murder' (this
person knows how 'aardvark is spelled?) 'o' as in
'o my god', 's' as in... 'seizure'- yeah, that's 'seizure'-
S,E,I,Z,... no no no! not 'c'! 'z' as in 'zoo'... 'u' as in
******* christ) 'UNICEF'... yeah, UNICEF, I think it's
an anagram... huh? ANAGRAM! with an 'a'! 'a' as in..."
"Okay, so that's 'a'... where the **** were we? NO
I WON'T WATCH MY LANGUAGE! Anyway where
the **** are you? Mumbai? As in former Bombay?
(why'd they change the name?)... and why do they
only train you in English cuss words? What was that?
What I just said or how do I spell my name? o crap just
never mind."
"...'o'? What's after 'o'? You mean you're actually keeping
track?!? wow! Forget what I said about your training-
you're a ******* genius... O... no, not 'o'! Only one
'o'! So, one 'o', not two, not..."
"In fact, **** it, I don't give a **** anymore, add an 'o'
to my name, call me "Almoost" call me "Bitchface", huh?
You wanta know how I spell Bitchface?"
"Where were we... 'o'... NO! NOT A THIRD 'O'!"
" 's' as in **** **** **** and 't' as in um, Tel Aviv
... hello? HELLO???"
"O my god o my god omygodomygod I just got
disconnected!"
"NOOOOOOOO"!
Nov 21, 2019
Nov 21, 2019 at 12:56 AM UTC
i watched today,
as unicef came,
and asked to speak with my parents,
i hid away as the adults conversed,
and sat back down to dinner,
their conversation was abrupt,
halted by a shut door,
and an exhale of annoyance,
their rant stuck to me,
and I thought,
as they complained,
-at least they're trying.
Jan 24, 2025
Jan 24, 2025 at 6:15 PM UTC
Impeached, indicted, discredited, expunged,
Forsaken and little short of being hanged,
Does the punishment truly fit the crime,
Inciting sedition and for that I need do time?
Are they crazy or simply deaf,
Do they think I work for UNICEF,,
A do-gooder, a kind hearted soul,
The kind of man to pigeonhole?
I'm a maverick, a crusader at heart,
The one to lead, feats to start,
I change the world it doesn't change me,
I push and I pull, won't let things just be.
So someone please tell me where I went wrong,
Was I not trusted to be valiant and strong,
To Shake the tree, purge that swamp,
On bureaucracy and waste simply stomp?
Build the country, cut to the chase,
Squash every foe, win every race,
And now what, have I've gone too far,
Plunging to earth like a falling star?
Give me a break, cut me some slack,
I did a great job, the country's on track,
Save for this Covid all would be fine
All other Presidents would I outshine.
Don't undervalue, don't underrate
I'm the one man you can't just abate,
Count me out at your peril, think I’ll retire,
For those that have crossed me, their future is dire.
Jan 15, 2021
Jan 15, 2021 at 8:15 PM UTC