| Child of My Mother |
I am an African child, the child of my mother. I live in my motherland, but everytime I rise, I feel like I am in the wrong plce. What I eat, what I drink, what they do to me, is not what it is supposed to be. I wonder why it has to be me. I am an African child, boy or girl, does it really matter? All that matters is that I live a good life. I wash the dishes, I wash the clothes I fetch the firewood I fill the shamba I tend to the cows, sheep and goats too. I am an African child, I don't complain when I do my work, I can't complain when I carry out my duties, but this has gone on too far. I can't go to school any more, I either wash, tend or fetch. I can't speak english, I can't wear the khaki uniform. I am working! I am an African child, the child of my mother and I ask.. It is my colour that hinders me? Is it my family's status? Where is my right to learn to read and write? Where is my right to play, sing and dance? I am an African Child, or do those words disqualify me?? |
| by: Shebah Nyawira Njagi. Kenya. Form 3 |