AFRICAN MAN

I love you African brother. Trudging along on your mother soil trying to make it to the other side before the sun goes down. Chasing that dream, chasing that name, chasing that paper. I love you and feel for you. They don’t get it you see. When the cops come calling on your name trying to put some breaks on your new found route, they think it's because you are not right in the head, or out to make them look bad. Their own pockets heavy with the need to make the rich feel protected, they come taking it out on you because they understand your moves but cannot even attempt to relate. Their jobs will be on the line. Their own struggle jeopardized.

They look at you when you visit office to office trying to do an honest day's work, they laugh at you when you speak of the podium you are soon going to hold, they talk you down when you are on top. I feel for you. I understand you.

And when a kid comes along in your pursuit of Mrs. Right. They don’t give you chance to get ready. Tearing you down before you even make an attempt or even realize that you are a father. But I have to push that aside incase I defend your truly useless counterparts. In this piece I am giving you my respect because I have seen your feet in the dust and your mud crusted shoes. I have seen how you cant sleep at night trying to connect the voice in your heart to the reality on the ground.

The marks you have left on the floor from up and down walks as if practicing the next days labour. Of driving that taxi of all sorts around town, some even on credit so you can get out of the house again with the confidence that there is something on the table. Or bearing that boss’s grouchy voice when he talks down at you like you are not a man with dreams and even more potential at doing his job than he has.

I just feel for you. That’s all. Holding a strong front when she shouts you down or kills your kid. Keeping a brave face because someone has to be a pillar. Keep it all form crumbling.

At times they think you don’t think, you don’t see, you have no feelings…you are not meant to understand. I feel for you. I have seen you in my son. All of three and wont cry incase they see him do it.

Oh there are some times when he just breaks down and cant stop. But many times he makes sure mommy isn’t crying, that mommy is smiling and that no one is going to see that he is sick to the bone. That is you my African man. So filled with a force no one will ever measure. You do indeed belong on the pulpit. You are indeed more capable of turning many hearts around. Because no one understands life like an African man.

I mean how do you feel when they sexualize you. Format you as a rapist. How do you feel when they lable you forcing you to be less. How do you feel? Do you have any close friends? True friends? Have you seen happiness? What do you really want when you have an hour’s free time? How understood are you African man?

Who has seen real pain, who has been so tired he cant breathe, who has sweated so hard only to note that the wall hasn’t moved a single inch and yet is expected to work much harder, all the while pretending it’s ok, carrying six people on his back, looking at his shelved dreams every night because that is all he can do if he is to be a man. And yes, being a man.

A man that makes sure there is comfort at home, respect in his enemies’ eyes, understanding in his mother’s eyes and no shame on his father’s grave.

Oh African man! All the credentials, all the organs, all the brain cells, all that innocence. Yet painted black. Hmmm.

How can I. An African woman, not have any respect for that? How can I not love you and just wish to let you know that when I scream it is because your wall wont let me in. Your inability to cry scares me and I too have my own to carry. Sooo much to carry. But ohh African man. I see you. I see you.