16 Apr

My name is Congo, Nigeria, Somalia, Ethiopia, DR Congo, Zimbabwe, Rwanda, Malawi … and my home is Africa. Did you hear me I said my home is Africa, I guess that makes me African. Yet somehow the South of my African takes away my feet when I’m walking, cuts my tongue when I’m talking, I’m unwanted and she keeps on aborting the idea of me being here.

Here in my own home bruised by her sons under the tears of the sun that want to wash away the memory of this horrific betrayal. My own Home crucify me with nails, in my hands, yet nails supposed to build our land. Count down the hours because there’s nothing that’s really ours, it’s just a theirs and them. They prefer the might of the sword rather than a pen, prefer blood and pain, prefer that we are not the same ,yet we have the same color blood in our veins, yet its seems that my part of Africa is shedding blood in the streets washed down the drains. We loosing life while they loosing brains, or maybe the sanity of identity in what is AFRICA’S name. For being a slave is what has been Africa’s fame … for freedom we fight, was once our claim.

It was a fight of black against white, but now black fights itself and fights the night with no light or insight into the true meaning of “Its my right”. it’s your right to stop a white from enslaving and oppressing a black, we all know that was never wright, but what about the right to live and be alive wherever I like, like the constitutions writes. You forget apartheid; it’s in your history books written in black and white. But I guess now we color blind and can’t see wrong from wright, we can’t see black Africa put black Africa in a black tire and with red fire set Africa alight.

Begging for mercy but South of my Africa never heard him, and as he burned he screamed and cried, We can’t see or we choose not to see such an awful sight, it’s a sight for sore eyes. South of Africa sent flying stones, telling me this is not my home. This is not my land this is not my country, is it about your country? Or really about your money?

The man on your money said there will never be oppression of one man upon another, but it seems south of my Africa has betrayed Nelson Mandela, Madiba and the Father redeemer you needed a healer so you prayed Nkosi sikelel’ Afrika (God bless Africa) and yes he blessed it but now you have cursed it by Spilling innocent blood into its soil and seas. Crippled her with the disease of want and greed Nkosi sikelela, thina lusapho lwayo (God Bless Her Children).
But we have broken Gods law and with our own cruel hands we closed his open door, and failed to love others as he has loved us.

We don’t know love we only know lust. Me myself and I, EYE watched Africa die, choking on vomit because she couldn’t swallow her pride. The truth is that your constitution lies, and its people take lives with no regret. Maybe we will forgive but we will never forget, but we will always be remembered like memories of this betrayal is all we have left. We gave you trust but you gave us death. We the unwanted guests unwanted at the party there’s no you and me there’s only an ANC, who can’t give you what they promised yet you put the blame on me.

I didn’t take your jobs, I only took what you gave me and that was an opportunity. To work smart and work hard, the only thing hard you know is your head, and soft pot belly lying in your bed. But have no fear XENOPHOBIA, this is my Africa my home, and my name will always be here.

If Mother Africa was meant for this, then I’m shamely raise my right fist and say”God Help Us

Letter by Sammy Mohlouoa Sibi
To African Voices



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