Africa

To me, to you, to them.

To Them

Africa is like a rich chocolate cake
Layers upon layers of treasures and resources
A place to plunder and ravage
Nectar a hundred fold sweeter,
Bounty a thousand times greater.
A never ending well of finance, commerce, wealth
Where Ignorance, Illiteracy, Greed and Corruption,
Can be twisted to nefarious advantage.
A dumping ground for all types of rubbish
A ready made test site for any mad scheme and concoction
A luscious hunting ground where “the savages” are the prey
And where religion, ideals and refinement are to be imposed.

To You

Africa is exotic
An adventure.
Of Mangoes and Guavas,
To Zebras and Giraffes
Something new and brave
An alien country.

A place where foreign currency,
Makes you King or Queen for your stay.
A place where everything is available at your beck & call
Where the right accent and skin colour
Elevates you to a different caste,
Earns you the right to preferential treatment
A place where the beggars and urchins are an eyesore
Where the shantytowns and ghettos are crime riddled nests.

A place where the local customs are quaint
But “Yuck! They eat with their hands”.
A place where you marvel at the beauty and luxury of your surroundings
But secretly laugh at the intonations of the owners
Where you recoil at the touch of a local
Yet can buy anyone you want or simply just take it.

A place where you can forget who and what you are.
An escape from the drum and drudge of your daily existence
Your dream holiday/vacation.

To Me

Africa is home
It is the crying woman fraught with worry
Scared her children may not survive the night.
Death lies in the unsheltered bitter night chill
The blistering relentless day sun
The lack of drinkable water
Water that can only be obtained after a 5 mile trek
The unsanitary environment
Incorporating copious diseases and terrible maladies.
It is the prospect of civil war and ethnic cleansing
Of having your neighbours and friends butcher you in a senseless genocide
Having your leaders plunder your strength, your pride, your work, your life.

For me, Africa is that shrivelled old woman
Stooped with age and the lines to show for it
With the baggage she’s forced to lug about
The ever continuous struggle
Despite all odds, the refusal to give up hope
The belief that she will make it to the other side
The land of peace, of joy, of the plentiful
That all will work out well in the end
Because it simply has to.