This an inspiring piece from a youth from South Sudan. He was South Sudan’s Youth Delegate to the 9th UNESCO Youth Forum, Paris, 2015. Be inspired!!

My dear brothers and sisters, 

From time immemorial ours used to be land of the great,

We gave birth to mankind; remember the Homo erectus and the Homo sapiens?

Civilisation too is our progeny; oh the great Egyptian and the Nubian,

We nurtured the mind at Timbuktu, remember Timbuktu? No, you were just taught Babylon, Athens or Rome,

Books we inked, medicine and astronomy we unravelled, poems we composed,

Our beautiful soil; even stone, if planted could germinate into a mountain,

The soil, when it spews, you see silver, iron, copper and the most exorbitant gold,

Oh wealth, we were abundantly endowed,

What about beauty?

Ourselves; from the toe to the snow-white jaws, which other creature could be that beautiful?

Our physique; sturdy, firm, erected and crafted with the utmost divine care, tell me, my dear reader, what else could be that beautiful?

Oh….good fortune is a curse, it’s the mother of all evils,

It’s the amusement park of all kinds of devils,

We became like a sack of newly harvested grain devour by weevils,

The land of the brave, not America but Africa was tossed by the waves,

The eastern sea brought the Arabs, and worst of all, the trade; I mean the Arab Slave trade,

Like it wasn’t painful enough, the other western sea reinforced it with the Atlantic slave trade, indeed an upgrade,

Not with goods but with men, the ships were loaded,

Together with our gold we were shipped to farms- industries’-lands; our muscles to build and our gold to enrich,

We were humiliated, our virgin land raped by the bewitched,

Dead in the plantations, left for the beasts to feed,

Dead in the sea, left for the hungry sharks to feed,

Like flies we died on duty, trying to quench the northern man’s greed,

The beautiful African was nobody but an equivalence of a sack of seeds,

Then bloody their conscience became,

A little mercy rose within their hearts, but things were never to be the same,

Through the Bible, they brought religion to cover their shame,

Our ancient gods were shoved away with sway, and Christ was pushed to fame,

The church became the curtain, but behind it, imperial politics was still the game,

They lashed us while robbing us, but their God kept us from fighting back; and so with their rules, their referees, the game went, oh we were tamed,

They got richer and stronger while we went from poor to poorer and weak to weaker,

In our own land, we needed the white man’s consent to pluck the ripe wild fruit,

To visit our brothers we needed identification proof that was like a car plate around our necks, in our own land? Oh no…

Land of our ancestors, land as black as our skin, in our own land…oh brothers and sisters…we were humiliated,

Finally, the brilliant African head, the head that started scribbling the walls of Timbuktu had learned the tricks,

The heart was finally furious and ready to break the bricks,

Finally, we Africans resorted to dying, to die with honour, to die defending the little that had remained,

To die for the traditions and cultures that were ingrained,

To die so that Africans of tomorrow will hold their heads above their shoulders, not restrained or refrained,

With stones and sticks, with the heart raged by imperialism and slavery, our African fathers fought,

From the young and dreaming to the old and dying, freedom we sought,

Oh freedom, alas she came,

Alas our kings are our kin, resembling the colour of our skin,

Alas freedom was seen, but none was to forget the greatest sin,

Celebrations I tell you, we celebrated, singing to the loudest, vomiting the hate with the eyes filled with joy, staring at the far beautiful scene that was serene and still,

Africa was beginning a new,

A beginning expected to renew,

A beginning to wipe away the tears of sorrow,

A beginning to retrieve the African greatness back from the shadow,

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