The soil of Africa flows rich in culture.
The sincerity of who we are, authenticised by each other. My value defined and
measured by who surrounds me.
I walk around admiring what achievements
have been reached. The children joyfully
running in streets running with freedom. No fear of yellow vans, men raiding
their poverty stricken homes. No fear of umunt’omdala. No fear of the night
bringing with it hooded men, pillaging their mothers and plundering their
fathers’ hard labour.
No fear of next door neighbours selling
them out and resulting in homes being destroyed by fires meant for survival.
They walk around thinking themselves grown or childhood games are forgotten;
fihl’ibhande, magalobha, amagende, inganekwane nokuphicaphicana. Intellectual games meant to stimulate the
mind and arouse the imagination long left to die a slow death of technology.
I am the Africa that longs for aided elders
carrying groceries, for neighbours who helped raise children by correcting and not ukududa and ukuziba. An
Africa of 3-thina and ushumpu. I am Africa.
The Africa that realises that there is a
vast difference between ingane and umntomdala. That realises that an error was
made in children having more rights than adults. That we have lost vital
principles that were ours and ours alone “Ubuntu”
“Ubuntu” was fundamentally African yet
“civilization” shifted majorities mind into eluding their miniature minds into
believing selfishness is the way Africa should be.
When Africa believes, we believe with every
thread in our being. We believe the
white man came to befriend us. We
believe that money was the treasure to have.
We believed that digging for our
own gold was better than planting our own food and raising our own cattle.
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