She Cries

The birth of the Kalashnikov did not give birth to war.

Do not be fooled.

Neither did the uprisings of protestors marching change any verdicts for any trial.

We are not in control.

Martin Luther King did not bring freedom for the westernized slaved men

And Mandela did not do shit for his kinsmen.

Screw the Obama craze of “yes we can“

And all of those nonsensical slogans.


Be gone with all your Greek mythology,

All your maths, physics and biology.

I want to know about me,

My history;

The wars, the Majimaji

The Mythicals, the Bacwezi,

My roots, MY reality.


BUT the reality IS THAT

We have lost our identity,

Our souls, our heritage,

Our ancestors’ stories now slowly fade to the back with the black lost ghost of self.

Left behind in a map and fled to a foreign land to try and understand why he couldn’t be a free Ugandan man.


Now taking on new vices, virtues,

He chose to desert you because with you we lose,

Get lost in the corporate noose wanting to break thru but get sucked in to an education system that does nothing for those they study.

They force feed, educate greed and in the end

It’s wants and not needs that take lead.


Bring back the days when cultural pride took the frontline,

When everything was “us” and not “me”,

When being African meant being free,

When hearts thumped and veins filled with passion,

When everyone ACTUALLY meant everyone.


Who are we? What have we become?

Slaves to ink-stained paper,

Seeking loans from those that we do for favors?


Africa cries. She bleeds.

She pleads but we squeeze and we tear her wounds wide open with our short-sighted needs.

We stab and we spit, we dig and we shit

And she pleads and she pleads, please let me breathe…


We are the breath of this soil.

Pick up your tools, sweat, toil.

Open your ears, Africa calls…Do you hear?

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