Africa the Abused

Africa

the land of darkness inhabited by people of darkness with the blackest of intentions

Africa

where the natives are the definition of backwardness, and each is entitled to a spear, two loin-cloths, mud hut and a pet monkey or elephant depending on their preference

Africa

where disease is customary, each contaminated with a fair quantity of cannibalistic tendencies, malaria, AIDS and the Genocide Symptom

Africa

where no matter how much is invested by the all too caring West, nothing moves forward because the continent is failure oriented and heathen infested

Africa

where each time I point it as the place of my origin, a skinny jean designer glasses clad gal, or the book smart Harvard going lad exclaims his safari trip ‘Like Africa this summer was so DIVINE… Hotel Rwanda was so like sad!’

Africa

they deem you too complex and address you as the dark continent as we your inhabitants with our naked breasts that swing right to left, click clack in our universal language, groove to voodoo while enjoying our monkey brain snack

Africa

the place where a rainbow of unnamed brown exists in the faces of proud men and women who squint at the sun’s licking rays since my home is over flooded with light and even at night the stars leave no room for darkness, kindness is how we speak and generosity is what we bequeath and though famine, corruption, and division plague us this land binds us and not in a romanticized version of The Lion King

Because Mufasa is dead

Simba is living out the circle of life as an orphan pitifully lifting up stick arms, with a mal-nutritioned belly that outweighs his dread as he sells you anything from silverware made of lead to phony Persian rugs to maps of a continent that has been left with a cracked lip, busted head, and a track record of molestation from all those Westernized, Civilized, God fearing Devoted to Jesus European Uncles that know whats best
but here’s whats been left out by the cunning, Despair loving Media of the West;

Simba endures

on his right side Nala cushions his plight as she winds her arms around her beloved, breastfeeding him the milk of justice and his left side is flanked by a Rafiki blazed conscience that out of its brightness will outshine the wrong doings and heartaches that have consumed and swallowed my continent, he will take those shaky steps up pride rock, allow dignity to resettle on his skin and bones, lift his head to the skies and

Roar progress

Roar change

Roar knowledge

Roar our perseverance as we shake these impediments and awaken

our Africa

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