Afrikans,

The time has come to reverse the narrative. I write to you to authenticate YOUR story; one that you wrote out by the flick of your very own wrist, as the ink gushed all through the ages from your majestic lips. I write that the façade that has been long accepted by your children will be replaced rightfully by truth, and love. And love.

Gone are the days of familiarity with utter failure, disgust, lack of resources, ridicule, remorse… all of which was pasted on each self standing vertebrae on this glorious spine of a living narrative, while your face was and always had been aglow. Its beholders unaware of the stem cells spelling reputation renewed and blossoming to heal the wounds of centuries censored to deception. To deception.

Gone is the season that your children were made commodities for no better reason than to veil the insecurities of the outsiders, of what a mighty, indestructible home you were going to build for your children at a steady and sure pace. They wouldn’t let it slide; thus came hurry with no blessings, instilled insidious seeds of destruction to drag you down. But my, oh my, Afrika, thou art resilient. You turned those seeds of shame into splendor. And still, unshaken, you rise. You rise.

Gracefully gliding to the dawn of a new age. A new age.

Afrika mama, we shall hold onto your roots, to the ultimate, unclouded foundation of our being. We shall embrace our language, our legacy, our lineage, our diverse beauty and intellect and creativity.

Because in the heart of Afrika is the well of our strength and vigour. Afrika, you are the source, they, the sink. Your children shall know that You are the giver, the lender and the possessor of the great wealth that you birth. You are, you are, our Mother.

The time is this, the time is now. We shall proclaim that we have broken free from the mental slavery that has for so long held us back. We are reversing our narrative to that which is purely true and told by you. Because our identity is not grounded on abstract colour, rainbow though it be, or whatever else They have to say. Their opinion is the least of our concerns. For now we shall be called by your name, mama; Afrika. Afrika.

By Chunchu

It’s a delight minds as Chunchu’s exist in this universe; with such wit & character at such a young age. (Click on the image below 👇 to visit her website (a plethora of beauty))

Artist & Writer

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