Africa, you had all the good people of 20th century die for you. You stood helplessly, indifferent and apathetic to the sacrifices made by our magnanimous people, who fought gory wars, not for something they wanted but for something they had, but were deprived of; freedom.
They wanted to get over the walls of colonialism, freed from chains of slavery. They wanted an opportunity where their posterity would have equal opportunities, when a blind would see a generation of prosperity, when a lame would jump in ululation of celebration of culmination of democracy, where a Muslim would read the gospel of fair opportunities in governmental allocations.
My tears are crimson red; I get weaker and more pessimistic with each rise of the sun. Every new day dawns with it a corruption here, and nepotism there, a dictatorship here and aristocracy there. Even the few I believed would clean up all the mess and restore us to our path to Canaan have become the new Judas of our periods.
Instead, they set for us new hopes. To be remorseful of our black color, to respect those who’re elected to transform you Africa but turn against us and embezzle our funds, to buy us a wheelbarrow at Ksh. 109000 each, and to open us a Facebook page at Ksh. 2 million. Yes, of course we need to get digital and broadcast our foolishness to the world, that we’re corrupt, and so many more “good things” we should hope for, that can’t be lucidly put in writing.
And still you are nonchalant, you have covered away your eyes, and given us your back, you are solid in your stand that you don’t want to be transformed. Keep up, and as my shirt turns red from my tears, I ask you to give me a chance, not to live in you, but to live in my dreams, that tomorrow will be better.
Tomorrow the sun will rise with happiness. That justice will be freed from persecution; that the dreams of our forefathers were not vision myopias.
