Here, foreign.

Where I come from, you do not say your deepest wants for fear of who is passing.

Everything is a completion. you have troubles, I know still, They are not bigger than mine. You are the happiest human alive, you must learn to wear this camouflage till you have enough privacy to nourish your truth; sadness.

You mustn’t be sad too long either, it is impossible to have your depressions kill you, there are demons in your fathers house already nailing your coffins. Gather your strength, you must bury them all. Death by fire and holy water.

You can wear your happiness but do not parade it too long. Truly, do not parade it at all, you have no such rights. Tell your good news only to your lover at home. Actually, do not tell him, the gods from his village  maybe listening. They may grown resistant to the fire that burnt your family’s juju.

You must lock your flight details in your minds safe. A million times it has been said, tell not a single soul. You must trust no one, your mother has echoed it enough, the world is dangerous.

Where I come from, you have not lived until you have danced the dance of suffering. you are only half alive if you have life easy.                                                                                            Where I come from, you can not have life easy, who is your daddy?                                          we will take good things but only in  bouts, The lights must come on but not for too long. Nothing very constant or fear sets tents in your hearts.

Still, where I come from, resilience is abundant. We love from our souls and feed our love to you. Sharing is second nature. Everybody’s spice comes together and dinner is served. Your neighbour is always your sister until branded enemy by the preacher man.

Sitting in winters hold, home calls me, the hustling and bustling of the markets, comradeship, Saturday morning, the aroma of your neighbour’s cooking..red oil and purple onions..

here, no mans land.

 

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