The Poetry Pulpit
Journal
CHAPTER TWO APR TO JUN 2021 FEATURING The triumphant story of Rahma Mohamud Africa Unite Poetry Competition Winners Short story by: Didi Orji
Redefining Afrikan THE POETRY PULPIT PODCAST
FOR THE WORDS OF LIFE!
CONTENTS 05 Founder's Message 06 Featured Article 12 Africa Unite Poetry Competition winners 13 Rudairo Mudarikwa 20 5 Books 26 Storytime with Didi Orji 33 Rutendo Mabika 35 Ntandokazi
06 the africa edition
Our actions and decisions today will shape the way we will be living in the future. issuu.com/PoetryPulpit
I AM NOT AFRICAN BECAUSE I WAS BORN IN AFRICA, BUT BECAUSE AFRICA WAS BORN IN ME.
KWAME NKRUMAH
Founder's Message As a black South African woman, I have the privilege of wearing my African identity everywhere I go. I have never been in a situation where I wasn't considered to be African. So, I've never had to qualify what it means to be African and why I believe I am that. This is a big privilege that one can easily take lightly. However, African is an ambiguous terms. It is who I am, yes, but why? What it is? Is it people who live, originate from or are citizens within the African continent? Is it brown skin and curly hair or silky straight blonde hair and blue eyes? Is there an African colour? Or is it more of a culture? Perhaps, and I would like to submit to you that, Africa is all that and more. African is an identity and a pride. It is the people and their customs. It is everything from the food and clothes to the deep meaning within our names. It is a legacy of people who lived way before colonialism and slavery. African is a testament of strength, resilience and freedom. But also a beautiful expression of love, generosity and community. While so much has happened to us as a people and to our land, I strongly believe that these things do not change who we are and what we're capable of. This issue is for us to redefine what Africa means to us. Her children. Beyond race, religion, violence and our individual stories. This is the African edition.
- Kay-Dee Mashile Founding and Managing Director @ Perfect Love Publications
THE POETRY PULPIT | P5
Featured Article "This is on behalf of all the Muslim girls in Oudtshoorn High School, even though it tells the story of one."
Rahma Mohamud THE POETRY PULPIT | P6
The hijab request “I was unaware of the fact that Oudtshoorn High School didn’t allow learners to alter their school uniform to accommodate their religious needs when I was still in primary school. As far as I was concerned, I just wanted to get into the famous Struisieland , the land of cultural diversity and respect."
Ever since we were little, we were taught about the value of the hijab (the headscarf a Muslim woman wears to cover her hair). This thin, wide piece of material was the principle and symbol of modesty, it also helped shape our behavior and discipline. It is a piece of material, that to this day, disciplines me, because it reminds me of the rules and disciplinary responsibilities I was entitled with when I was born with the honour of living my life as a Muslim girl. The hijab is also something we have just learned to accept as a normal part of our lives, without questioning it or wondering what would happen if we didn’t wear it anymore. Little were we told that even though we have accepted this, the world around us, won’t.
In primary school, I don’t remember altering the uniform for my religious needs being an issue. My principal then, Mr Meyers, in Oudtshoorn Noord Primary School, according to my mother, did not deny us that choice. We were allowed to cover our legs (covering completely is essential in our religion), and at some point of that time we were also allowed to wear the hijab, but because of the endless bullying, our elders advised us to turn down that option, but one thing never changed, we were allowed to change our uniform to accommodate our religious needs. We told ourselves that one day, when the awful remembrance of the rejection fades, we would wear our hijab with our school uniforms with pride. I struggled with my identity for the first 3 years of my high school career. I was Rahma Mohamud in general. The girl with the purple-patterned hijab – you can clearly see it’s her favourite – you can clearly see her story. When I was at school, I was Raghma – the girl who doesn’t even try her best at her school – the girl that is capable of so much – the girl that will accept the rules that are clearly about to put her in an uncomfortable position for the next few years.
I knew very well that the school’s uniform regulations didn’t apply when we wore civvies, yet I still continued with this other identity. I knew that the days we could come to school after hours in civvies, the rules wouldn’t apply. I still struggled to decide. At some point, I wore the hijab on my way to school, in civvies, but removed it before setting foot on the premises. After school or even when I was just going to be there for an hour, I would take it off so they could recognize me – Raghma. Raghma and her new necklace.
"'When I had to walk home in my school uniform, the skirt and all, I had to walk around the town to get to the north side. No populated buildings or cars in sight. The areas were very quiet, and I walked with severe anxiety in my heart. Anything could happen to me, and no one is around to witness or help. I’m on my own. Could these be my last few moments alive? I can’t go through town like this, I can’t let anyone see me… like this. I don’t like this, and I don’t think this is something I should be experiencing."
That alter-identity made me want to hide again. When I walked in town, in my purple-patterned hijab, I would bolt if I saw someone from school. I was Rahma, not Raghma. I was scared of what they would think when they saw me in the hijab. I was scared that they felt the same way about Muslims as the world did. I was scared.
I’m glad, because I’ve learned something. I’m not in primary school anymore, I’m in high school, and the friends I’ve made there were shockingly supportive. They would get excited at seeing me in my hijab, and I'd get countless amounts of compliments.
Grade 11 is when I drew the line. I started wearing the hijab outside, with utmost pride. Instead of just having those 2, old, worn out hijabs, I bought more, in all of my favourite colours. I wore them when I had classes after school , so everyone could see who I really was. When I stayed behind in school, I’d pack in my hijab and dress, so I could change into that and walk home through town, 2.6 km, instead of 3km, without any anxiety.
I found my identity again when I thought about my answer. The answer was ridiculous, and there is a sense of oppression. I found my identity. Look at Rahma Mohamud’s academic records from Grade 8 to 10 vs Grade 11 and 12. The results have sky rocketed when, in fact, they were suspected to drop because of the complexity of senior years. Is that not miraculous? How your struggle with identity can be the biggest reason you’re not achieving like you could?
“Between 18 April and 24 April, I will start wearing my hijab, whether I have received a response or not. I really don’t want to be this sad excuse of an alter identity, I want to be. Everyone always talks about how you need to go down at least once in your school career, and I’ve always disagreed. I’m might go down for this, but it’s for all the right reasons. I’ve always wanted to know what goes down in a disciplinary hearing."
EDITOR'S NOTES: While Rahma didn't go ahead with wearing the hijab on the said dates, her courage resulted in what now looks like a nondiscriminatory school where black hijabs are acceptable parts of the Oudtshoorn High School uniform. What began with one girl's story has now changed the narrative of an entire institution. Africanness is dressed in different attires, speaks different languages and practices different faiths and beliefs. being African is standing up for others, regardless of whether or not your name will be remembered. I sure hope that Rahma Muhamud will be remembered in the future history of Oudtshoorn High School and the liberation of its learners.
listen
now
AFRICA DAY
P O E T R Y COMPETITION CONGRATULATIONS TO THE WINNERS: RUDAIRO MUDARIKWA - MY AFRICA PETRO MBWANYA - MY TRIBE NATASHA MUBERUKA - SHADOWS SUN & LONA SOTO - MZANTSI AFRICA laura@africaunite.org.za +27 651 814 826
@africaunite.umojawaafrica @UmojaWaAfrica
Rudairo Mudarikwa 15 years old. MY AFRICA When l hear the word Africa My History comes to mind My ancient Heritage is on rewind It’s the identity which has been carried out by my forefathers It’s the wisdom which l say in my words Which l use to build my future forward I am constantly reminded of where we began My ancestors lived a time they were voiceless Voiceless for its people were being shattered by the means of being silenced Sorrow for no speech Freedom couldn’t speak For my Africa was weak Through the struggles we overcame So that we could redefine our destiny that was yet to come Profound with the uniqueness of Ubuntu I am connected to Africa as l dance to Afrobeat For in Africa that’s where you find my heartbeat A nation which is centered by the belief in hope Multilingual hymns we set to honour those who died
Ululations to our freedom fighters we cried Africa dancing to the sound of its heartbeat Zulu people dancing to show our strength in wars Our warriors never faced any defeat as we made our hope lead The Xhosa tribe rich in their proverbs and verses As the Shona tribe call me Asoko That’s where my roots are profound To the Ndebele tribe to never be forgotten by their vibrant colours As our colours can never be shattered by the shadows of night for in the attire we wear lays my light I call for a change in Africa Africa with a soul made of democracy Our mothers and sisters happy and in delight Truly the future of the youth will be bright Africa which is covered with skin of pure Grace With a heart of no Race Putting the change in every place An Africa which is coming in from a great Kingdom Which is reaching for the breath of Freedom I hope to see Africa carrying wisdom in its words As we will build our future forward I dream of the day that Africa will not be blind to the ability of not seeing the corruption
Corruption will be the sight of its enemies Africa that will lift those brainwashed by the belief in superiority And bring them to the belief of peace and Equality Africa that will see no eyes of poverty And pave a way for an education to its children as they will be led to prosperity Africa which l am proud to call my own As she will be Queening from her highest throne Pick up the call my new Africa Your mothers and sisters are in need of you The change starts with the leadership in you I say mama when l grow up I want to be like Africa, She is coming in so unique but yet leaves so undefined Africa is my identity My identity is Africa This is the voice of a child in Africa
CONGRATULATIONS RUDAIRO MUDARIKWA AFRICA UNITE AFRICA DAY POETRY COMPETITION WINNER
Petro Mbwanya, 22 years old. MY TRIBE From east to west From south to north It's my tribe My kindred Our kingdom And my people All over the surface Of this colourful side of the globe We are brown We are black We are of all tones, Are of every hue you know, And fit well in our skin. We are beautiful When with pride we wear it, Priceless skin. We are doubly beautiful When we see in this land so colourful One single nation Which ought to reunite When we look at each other And see in the eyes Faces and smiles beauty galore And when with our sight And immense love, our inside Can pierce through the visual
And the superficial Transcend beyond the visible And meet not only resemblance In the eyes, face, and smiles But also see the gigantic baobab tree Of brotherhood, sisterhood On which we're all planted. We are multiple times beautiful If we can Go as far as Not only believing But also beholding To see and understand That we by birth stand Upon the same roots. Planted steadfastly Deep down Africa's soil Down to the waters underground Further down to the heart Of the earth From where we draw Our warmth For warm we are People warm from inside out We are the volcanoes Warmly hospitable. We resemble Nyiragongo’s Molten lava. We are nurtured and forged in fire We’re gold, we’re bold Yet gentle like sweet waters From the docile Nile
Down a thirsty beast's throat. We invite And warmly welcome We love, and treat well. Those we invite, however, Welcome, and love Do not always embrace us back With equal love We give them a hand Meaning no harm They gratefully cut down the entire arm They come to invade and divide They hate us and expropriate our land Violate and rape our women Now with torrents of crimson tears On my crimson face fall Cascading down the cheeks But I dare keep my chin up, My heavy head I dare rise Eyes on the horizon I lie I can virtually behold hope Beginning to confidently dawn And a bold tomorrow Beginning to unfold. Towards it we ought to walk If rivers we meet, we will cross If oceans and seas we encounter, we shall sail Slowly but surely we’ll approach the shore Soon, very soon My beloved people Will our enemies overthrow And rightfully sit back on our throne
Natasha Muberuka, 17 years old. SHADOW’S SUN The heavens wailed as a primordial deity was bound and chained by maddening greed of her brothers who had cut her maliciously, yet delicately from her horn to her tip scarring her for millennia. The heavens covered their eyes as they had slaughtered her soul, and starved her to feed their greed. The heavens were in turmoil as the once blessed motherland had been cursed by her brother continent’s ravenous. Left desolate, the deity had become a slumbering shadow as the people carried her burden. Until the beat of drums created by delicate hands awakened her from a coma. “RISE AFRICA ,RISE!” her people said with a profound resilience so ancient
she annihilated their chains that had been rusted by by uprisings and revolutions. She eradicated the mirage of poverty, genocide, famine, illiteracy and war created by her brother continents. As if that is all we are. As if that is all we are worth. As if that is all it means to be African. “Open your eyes to a new dawn, as it pierces the darkness of our truth wrapped in lies. Read the words engraved in stones by the ancient ones. Remember who we are.” Her people sang as they stitched all her scars unifying all fifty-four nations as they adorned her with beads and placed a spear on her hand. The heavens beamed as the deity had taken her rightful place as the shadow’s sun. Finally, Africa smiled as she saw the beauty and colours of being African.
Lona Sotondoshe, 16 years old. MZANTSI AFRICA Mzantsi Africa Lizwekazi lam Khaya lam Ngawe ndingabhala de kophuk'usiba lwam, kuphel'incindi ngenxa yotyatyadulo olunganqumiyo Indlela obaluleke ngayo ndingafunga ngenxarha kwisilonda Ugcwel'abamnyama nabamhlophe ngokwebala kodw'iintliziyo zinye phambi kwakho Ngawe ndingabhala de kophuk'usiba lwam Lizwekazi lam Uphawulo lwakho lugcwel'imibala egqamileyo yanga nam ndingagqama ze ndiqaqambise elilizwe lakuthi, kuthi ngemin'ezinkulu ndiyixhele ndiyihlahlela ndibe ndixhokonxwe leli lizwekazi lakuthi ngalomhla ndibengu nomaxhosa ndigaxel'intsimb'okwegqirha Ndibe ndiyichophela ndibe nguChoph'ayicacise ndinichubele ndinicocela ngomba wamasiko nezithethe zakwantu Ngawe khaya lam ndingabhala de kophuk'usiba lwam Iminqweno endinayo ngumqul'omlom'obomvu ziyure zentsuku ezibubomi Ngaze maAfrica singayilahl'imbo ngophoyiyane Izidaniso nenkubazeko zibe ngabantwana bedlal'ucekwa Ze singasali kwinqwelo kampumelelo Ngase sichunyelwe nakwaba bazayo onyaka Singqish'isingqisho esinye maAfrica nabalandelayo zebangaswel'inkcazelo Ithemba ngumdanisi IAfrica ngu nyaniseko Ngawe ndingabhala de kophuk'usiba lwam
LISTEN NOW! Featured poems available on The Poetry Pulpit podcast now at anchor.fm/PoetryPulpit or click on the Spotify icon below.
THE POETRY PULPIT | P19
AFRICAN BOOKS TO LOOK OUT FOR
01 Today is To Do by Ntsundeni Ndou (Recommended by Bala Buka African Libraries)
02 Coconut by Kopano Matlwa (Recommended by Bala Buka African Libraries)
THE POETRY PULPIT | P21
Dear Black Parents This is the book that best fits the theme of the edition. It embodies the themes of Gender-Based Violence, blackness, healing, new beginnings and women empowerment.
03 Dear Black Parents: A letter From Your Child's Teacher by Sebabatso Naledi Thulo
THE POETRY PULPIT | P22
new new
CLINK HERE TO LISTEN
04 Africa's Greatest Entrepreneurs by Moki Makura (Recommended by Bala Buka African Libraries)
05 Government Tenders Don't Suck by Monica Rubombora (Recommended by Bala Buka African Libraries)
THE POETRY PULPIT | P24
listen
now
STORY TIME WITH
DIDI ORJI
The Silent Speaker “No.”
“You didn’t even tell me you were selected. I was
“What?”
informed by your teacher.”
“I’m not doing it.” “Why not?” Of course, why didn’t I think of that. I should have I could tell Mom wasn’t going to let me go easily. She
known she would tell Mom about my achievement, but I
crossed her arms with a lifted eyebrow. She could be
didn’t have time to think that far ahead. She had told
very persistent when she wanted to be. Maybe that was
me that being picked was such an honour, but as I
why she got her way too often. But it wasn’t going to
recalled from this morning, it was a terrible experience.
work with me. Not this time. I really didn’t want to talk
I remembered the glares I received when my name was
about it, but it was obvious the conversation wasn’t
called out from the list. I didn’t get an applause like
over.
Liesley or pats on the back like Heidi. All I got was silent malice. All I could hear when I took my seat were
“I don’t feel like it, ” I answered with a shrug.
whispers behind my back - nasty comments pointed at
That was a lie.
me. No. I had made my decision. I wasn’t going.
I really really wanted to go. But I knew it would be best if I didn’t. For me - and them.
“I’m not doing it,” was my stubborn retort. “Listen here Tshimo, you are going to that Public
“You don’t feel like it?” Mom repeated with sarcasm.
Speaking contest if I have to drag you there,” Mom shot
“This is a great opportunity Tshimo. You can’t not
back.
compete, just because you don’t feel like it.” Mom said. She was angry. I hated it when she was angry, but She did have a point there. This was a big deal. Only
there was no way to make her understand.
grade 8’s and above were allowed to sign up but hardly
“Please… I really don’t want to go,” I pleaded.
any of the girls in our class were chosen. I hadn’t
I saw Mom’s anger melt away at the desperation in my
signed up. I hid the form from my parents because I
voice.
knew they would have wanted me to participate. But
“Please Mom. I can't,” I said, hot tears starting to flood
somehow I had gotten in. I don’t know who signed me
my eyes.
up. Maybe it was part of a cruel joke.
THE POETRY PULPIT | P27
“I’m sorry. I just really don’t want to participate in the I couldn’t do it. I would never be able to do it. And even
Public Speaking Competition.”
if I did, no one would want to see me.
There it was again, that disappointed look on Mom’s face. It made me feel terrible, but it couldn’t be helped.
My dark brown eyes with my even darker skin. People
There was no way I was going there.
didn’t like me, they hated me.
“It’s okay Tshimo. You don’t have to go,” Mom said
I tried blinking my tears away, but they kept coming.
reluctantly.
Mom moved towards me, concerned, but I didn’t want
I knew she really wanted me to join, but I appreciated
to be showered with pity so I ran upstairs to my room. I
the fact she didn’t push me.
ignored her shouting my name and slammed my door. I
“Thanks Mom,” I said giving her a hug.
chucked my backpack to one corner and collapsed onto
As I squeezed her, I felt relieved and frustrated. I had
my bed crying. I wished I was cool like Fiona or smart
gotten what I wanted and yet not what I wanted at all.
like Elisha. I wanted to be accepted and liked. There
Mom got up to leave and took the tray with her,
was a barrier between my life and the life I wished I
“Mom.”
had. And no one could ever change that. Even if they
“Yes?”
terribly wanted to
“Are you going to eat that?” I asked, pointing at the bowl with pap on the tray.
I don’t know how long I had been moping about in my room when there was a knock on my door. I didn’t
The next morning I got to school just like I normally did
answer, hoping they’d leave me alone. For a while all
and as I arrived, Lebo rushed over to me. Her eyes
was quiet and then the door opened. Mom was
twinkling with excitement. She wore the same uniform
standing in the doorway with my dinner on a tray. I
as me and every other student here, but she had a way
guess I had been in my room for a while.
of making it look different. Her blue striped dress went
“I thought you’d be hungry.”
up to her knees and a blue lace tied unto her waist.
“I’m not.” I said curtly.
With the school shoes there were small threaded patterns designed unto it. She also had a ribbon in her
She walked over anyway and placed my dinner on my
hair. I was sometimes jealous to see how comfortable
counter. The dinner was pap, spinach and pumpkin -
she was with people she didn’t know and how good she
my favourite. I looked away, trying to resist the
looked.
temptation. It seemed to work at first, but it didn’t help
But she was my friend and I was grateful she was. If
when the aroma snaked its way to my nostrils.
she wasn’t here I’d be lonely all of the time. She was
“I’m sorry if it feels like I was pressuring you. I was just
the only person at school who understood me.
so proud you were chosen,” Mom said softly. I turned my head to face her.
“Tshimo!” She exclaimed as she reached me.
THE POETRY PULPIT | P28
listen
now
“What’s up?” I asked with a grin.
I winced silently.
“You’re up!” Lebo said, showing me the flyer in her
“You better be careful not to stutter in front of the
hand.
crowd. Everyone will have their eyes on you and one mistake… well, I best not go there.” Lucinda said
I looked at it and my heart stopped. It was the flyer
innocently.
about the Public Speaking Contest. ‘Congrats to those
It sounded like advice, but I knew all too well that she
who were selected for the Public Speaking Contest...’ it
was trying to scare me. And I hated to admit it, but she
read in bright purple.
succeeded. I felt sick to my stomach with fear.
I gripped the strap of my backpack as I read my name.
Lucinda didn't miss that, because an evil look of
No! This had to be a mistake! My name wasn’t
satisfaction washed over her face.
supposed to be there!
“Goodluck!” she smiled and with a graceful twirl she left
“Tshimo, are you okay?” Lebo asked. Her smile
my table leaving me in fear and weariness.
replaced with concern. I gave a tight smile,”Yeah.”
“Welcome everyone. Today we’ll be discussing the
A lie.
elements of drama.” Miss Evelyn said. Drama was one of my favourite subjects. I watched her
Lebo didn’t seem to believe me, but the school bell
scribble something on the blackboard with chalk. After
saved me from further interrogation. I felt sick on my
a few moments,she turned to face us with a smile.
way to class. There had to be an explanation for this. I
“Drama is an art that uses expressions and body
needed an excuse to not participate. I was late for class
language. It needs the person to express and feel the
and Mrs Thompson wasn’t impressed. I took my seat at
role of their character and put up a performance for the
the back and tried to pay attention to her lesson on
viewers.” she said looking at all of us.
Geometry. Before I knew it, it was lunch time. I tried to
“There’s another key point that is important in drama,
make myself unnoticed, taking a seat at the table
which is...” she paused for dramatic effect.
where I normally met up with Lebo. We weren’t in the
“Confidence. Marianne Williamson said, ‘Our deepest
same class, but luckily we still had lunch together.
fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are more powerful beyond measure. It is our
Unfortunately, my attempt was in vain. Lucinda and her
light, not darkness that frightens us...’” She quoted.
cronies spotted me. Lucinda made it her business to make my life miserable. She gave a sickly sweet smile
I knew she was addressing the whole class, but it felt
that reminded me of a lion's look before devouring its
like she was speaking directly to me. The quote
prey.
summed up my situation perfectly. I was tired of having to keep to the shadows. I wasn’t like that. But I had let
“Hello Tshimo. I heard that you are going to take part in
myself be scared of what people might think about me
the ‘Public Speaking Contest’.” Lucinda crooned.
THE POETRY PULPIT | P30
I felt a feeling I thought I would never feel again. Determination. I am going to participate in the Public Speaking Contest.
The Silent Speaker By Ifechidelu Didi Orji The Poetry Pulpit Resident Storyteller Didi Orji is the 13-year-old child author of her debut fantasy novel, The Adventures in the Magical Forest. Find out more about her and her work at: http://didiorjibooks.wixsite.com/magic Or visit the Didi Orji Books Facebook page
THE POETRY PULPIT | P31
AFRICA HAS HER MYSTERIES, AND EVEN A WISE MAN CANNOT UNDERSTAND THEM. BUT A WISE MAN RESPECTS THEM. MIRIAM MAKEBA
Rutendo Mabika, 16 years old. AFRICA At the tip and toes of earth gave birth to diverse cultures and races Africa , a mother to my homeland Zimbabwe A beautiful nation caved and covered by stones (Zimbaramabwe) Today we celebrate and embrace all the scars from the past some battles we lost yet we still rejoice Because Africa is a continent of glowing melanin skin Of people who are keen To make something out of shattered dreams
Corruption is the walls of our continent It covers us With a cloud of suffocation And leaves us in frustration But we as Africans Do not conform to hesitation We are our own daily motivation Though sometimes our lives Are like a guitar played with broken strings
We still dive into things Strive and learn to live We believe and hope For a better Africa A better home Where the world practices humanity And everyone can live in serenity So we can be in unity. Happy Afrca day ❤
listen
now
Ntandokazi, 18 years old. AFRICA Africa is a wealthy continent. And it's greatest, most valuable resource is it's people. The wealth of Africa lies within the hands of her people. There is no denying that The different kinds of people in Africa make Africa AFRICA!! Africa is a Compound Mesai of Kenya and Tanzania. Himba in the Northwest of Namibia. The Zulus of South Africa, Bushmen. The proliferation of the people of Africa , Make our Africa beautiful More than that , They make our Africa pure and rich. The sun rays gave birth to the black skin-filled with cocoa. Hearts sweeter than their sugar canes . The warmth found on the African continent is also found in their hearts. Hair reminds them of the struggle , That went from being masters of the soil , to being slaves of the same soil. And their Melanin, tells me about the freedom that comes with being masters of their soil.
How different would the world be without the Melanin African Beauty ? How empty would it be without the art of the black society ? The creatives are digging deeper holes than the Namibian mines, While imaginers are swimming in our imagination pools deeper than the Nile River. Unlike the natural resources we export to other continents , the resources in the hands of Africans, Are for Africa Made in Africa ,here to enrich AFRICA ! For thus I call to Africans, To invest in their African brothers and sisters . To educate ,to uplift, to create better opportunities for them A real South African leader once said "I dream of an Africa which is in peace with itself ." I aspire that for you as well. We must raise, renounce and resound the culture of inhumanity and cruelty in Africa, Because we are bigger, together, better . Just like the big Orange river that passes through Kimberly and the Free State . Our greatness and skills are sourced From our great-grandfathers. Instead of dissipating and running out They multiply into greater and many forms within. Africa is you, Africa is me, Africa is we, Africa is them. We all are Africans
WE FACE NEITHER EAST NOR WEST. WE FACE FORWARD. - KWAME NKRUMAH, GHANAIAN INDEPENDENCE LEADER
read now
issuu.com/poetrypulpit
