have two friends, a Nigerian and a Tanzanian.
I am a South African. Western, eastern,
or southern, we are all African.
country· is not in Africa. It's down South.
On it's way out; it's culture having gone
through destruction. And now, inevitably
doomed to extinction. My brother and my
sister from Nigeria and Tanzania thought
they'd suckle on the same breast. Yet
they remain orphans in the solitude of
will acknowledge them and how? When a
country's myopia prevents its from acknowledging
its transformation. Transformation, of
course, is movement. Or lack thereof.
Moving from a past as numbing a comfort
they are, my brother and sister, amongst
blind drunkards. Dancing crazily to their
own songs. Songs from their home, songs
from Africa, songs with no drum beat.
Rhythm-less. Alone dancing, they look
urge them on, but my voice is caught in
the uprising snore of my society. I admit
it might actually contribute to this excruciating
grunt. This is a RANT. I'm helpless in
this web. I want what was, because I'm
afraid of what's to come. They are my
friends because they pity me. Ironically
hungrier than them, I am unsure where
to find the gold in this rich mine called
Earth. My friends and I identify. We are
one. The Tanzanian, the Nigerian and the
South African. We are African.