STORIES FROM MY HEART

Africa is in labour summon the village elders to make a prayer for the royal birth the brain child of heavenly matrimony as the fields turn golden ripe...with harvest let the celebrations begin, the ululations of the African woman, pour libation to the ancestors with pride for Africa is in labour The anxious mother writhes in pain her eyes shut as the memories of yester years fill her mind years of slavery, exploitation, poverty, the aftermath of racism and war burns like acid rain The beautiful pain of childbirth Africa's children lay scattered in the dust torn apart by untold calamities that rock the womb of black heritage she prepares her already full breasts for the coming child as tears stain her milky bosom Africa is in labour the naming ceremony is just about the royal cockerel is at the shrine it crows...several times if it crows 3 times, it is a girl,4 times, a boy 6 times it crows, a child..just a child Africa bursts into celebration A child is born A black child is born...

I grew up in the countryside And was raised just like any other child in the village I remember being woken up very early every morning, Even if we had nothing to do Children were not to be lazy So we had to find things to do Run in the dewy grasses; play with any of the farm animals that had now become pets Many times we went to the shamba boys hut He always lit a fire that we would gather around He had the sweetest stories ARNEST was his name…later I learnt in English it pronounced Ernest He was from Uganda He told us stories of the cannibals of Uganda He said never to eat meat in a Ugandan house And he swore he wasn’t one of them For these stories, I would pay be young again.. I have a little girl Nine months and her whole life ahead of her If I lived in a farm now Would I let her go for fireplace stories? In this country at this time I cannot answer that question How about hide and seek, up in the trees, and deep in the Napier grass Together with boys and girls her age I cannot ans...

What is the colour of war, pray tell me... In Rwanda, it is green April, the month of abundance Green April, green genocide green, the wealth of the country the reflection of heartless bastards Green, envy, Green, war... In Congo Its black, its diamond, Its Gold, the wealth of nature earth, black, the colour of nature, black, death...black, war In Iraq, it is gold; liquid, heavy, deep down in the earth corroding the very essence of life killing the breath that is life, brown, oily, gold, hell...gold, war In the Sudan, Sierra Leone, the colour wheel spins black, red, green the colors of war, Pray let me know So when one day when I cannot speak and I hold a crayon in my hand, paint when I will tell stories in colour then I will freely call it black, or gold, or green…. The colour of war is not red Red is the colour of the pain that is war Pray, tell me then... What is the colour of war Terryanne Chebet