Let me talk about the hours that I don't mention
The minutes...that might not hold your attention
Suspension...in time. Invention...from thought to rhyme
When seconds pass like days like bulls in grass we graze
The haze...when the air is quiet the craze and aftermath of riot
Sorting beans-no spoons-but mouths to feed
I'm sickened by thoughts of first world greed
There's not much to have when there's not much you need
Holding them close so they can finally sleep
Turning my head so they don't see me weep
The light in their eyes when they learn something new
Just holding my camera means so much to you
Not one drop of water to wash a shirt
Covered each day with the same red dirt
But I don't notice.
This is the norm the way you transform the eye of the storm
When clothes seem new 'cause yesterday they weren't on you
And each day you wear two of the same left-footed shoe
There's not much to do...or even say but you
Beg me to stay, please stay. I pray...for you
Each day for you. Let's play...at least with a word
Or two. Since the concept of a toy seems so absurd
We all eat from the same dirty bowl
In the ground we all share the same hole
But that's real.
I watch you change I watch you grow
There's a lot to watch when time moves so slow
Sleeping head-to-toe with no more beds as far as you know
'Have-not' is all you've ever known
Not one thing to claim your own
Splitting wood to feed the fire to feed the mouths
With strong desire you desperately inquire what it takes to make it
Higher.
To have a fan to take a stand to be a man to be called
American...
'Cause if Ameri-CAN then maybe they will
Hold out their hand with a dollar bill and say,
"Hey Africa, we got you this time..."
'Cause if there's blood to spill and resources to steal
Then shouldn't our suffering be on the list to kill?
Please just share a meal let me feel what you feel
When you feel...privileged. See I've never known
What it's like to take something for granted
When I want to eat seeds need to be planted
The sun is falling it's time to sleep
So up the steep dirt hill I creep
Since I can't be out after dark...that's when my skin color difference
Gets stark
Tired from a day filled with nothing to borrow
But you still say you pray that you'll see me
Tomorrow.
April 30, 2009
Lost and Found
"Jennnyyyyy!? Jenny WHERE have you BEEN? We've been worried about you!!" The familiar yet comforting sound of my mother's voice screeching to me in a overly-dramatic mixture of concern and reprimand is coming from the other end of the line. "MOMMM, I TOLD you, I went on a trip to Rwanda and Uganda!" "Yes, but we thought you were only going to be gone for three days!!" I pause for a moment as I think about how that doesn't even make sense, seeing as how it takes at least one full day to get there and one full day to return. Regardless, I know I've been lost, so let's update....
I have officially moved to Dagoretti Corner, an outskirt of Nairobi, just outside of Kibera. I've networked with an NGO called Zana Africa http://www.zanaafrica.org/zinner.asp?pcat=aboutus&cat=whoweare that helps adolescents with empowerment and awareness within community challenges. I'll be spending two days per week with Zana, visiting different schools within the slums giving presentations. The other three days will be spent at an orphanage teaching and coordinating activities with the children. Kibera is one of the biggest slums in Africa, and I will be finishing off my last three months of volunteering there. While I know this worries my entire official and unofficial family, I can assure you that contrary to belief, I've grown increasingly savvy in African integration these days. I know the safe areas and how to assess each situation. I know how to act and be treated like a local, and I know where and when I should and should not be walking alone and/or after dark. That being said, I'll admit it's risky and situations can escalate in a matter of seconds. A recent article in the Daily Nation is a perfect example...
I first saw it while in Uganda. The headline: 25 Killed in Karatina; Mungiki Massacre. I had to read it twice, as this is the small village in which I spent my first two weeks in Kenya. As I've explained before, the Mungiki is an underground sect of youths demanding money, specifically from Matatu drivers, and are known for brutally killing their victims during demonstrations. This is inter-tribal hostility, within the Kikuyu tribe. Karatina, in addition to my most recent home in Nyeri, is amidst Kikuyu-land, which is why demonstrations frequently happen in these areas. Apparently after a group of locals banned together to capture and kill known members of the Mungiki, they retaliated. Having knowledge of the whereabouts of their aggressors, the Mungiki went to each of their houses at 2am and demanded they get dressed and come outside. Using pangas(machetes), knives, clubs and swords, they killed the locals right outside of their homes. Additionally, they burned many houses, trapping the inhabitants inside. The saddest part is that it's inter-tribal, even further internal than a civil war. To make matters worse, the government here is in complete disarray. The Prime Minister and President are at odds, as the PM is attempting to call a re-election. This could get bad, and quickly. The Rwandan President is advising Kenya to learn from their problems 15 years ago with the genocide, as it looks as though Kenya could be on this similar path of destruction.
At this halfway point in my venture, although I can attest to moments of extreme caution and awareness, I have also become extraordinarily content within each moment. Not only am I more sure of my role and place amidst my journey, but I have found a peace of mind in my expectations and what I had hoped to accomplish. I know these next few months will fly by, and I'm trying to hold on to as much as possible before leaving the paradox of complexity and simplicity that is Africa.
I have officially moved to Dagoretti Corner, an outskirt of Nairobi, just outside of Kibera. I've networked with an NGO called Zana Africa http://www.zanaafrica.org/zinner.asp?pcat=aboutus&cat=whoweare that helps adolescents with empowerment and awareness within community challenges. I'll be spending two days per week with Zana, visiting different schools within the slums giving presentations. The other three days will be spent at an orphanage teaching and coordinating activities with the children. Kibera is one of the biggest slums in Africa, and I will be finishing off my last three months of volunteering there. While I know this worries my entire official and unofficial family, I can assure you that contrary to belief, I've grown increasingly savvy in African integration these days. I know the safe areas and how to assess each situation. I know how to act and be treated like a local, and I know where and when I should and should not be walking alone and/or after dark. That being said, I'll admit it's risky and situations can escalate in a matter of seconds. A recent article in the Daily Nation is a perfect example...
I first saw it while in Uganda. The headline: 25 Killed in Karatina; Mungiki Massacre. I had to read it twice, as this is the small village in which I spent my first two weeks in Kenya. As I've explained before, the Mungiki is an underground sect of youths demanding money, specifically from Matatu drivers, and are known for brutally killing their victims during demonstrations. This is inter-tribal hostility, within the Kikuyu tribe. Karatina, in addition to my most recent home in Nyeri, is amidst Kikuyu-land, which is why demonstrations frequently happen in these areas. Apparently after a group of locals banned together to capture and kill known members of the Mungiki, they retaliated. Having knowledge of the whereabouts of their aggressors, the Mungiki went to each of their houses at 2am and demanded they get dressed and come outside. Using pangas(machetes), knives, clubs and swords, they killed the locals right outside of their homes. Additionally, they burned many houses, trapping the inhabitants inside. The saddest part is that it's inter-tribal, even further internal than a civil war. To make matters worse, the government here is in complete disarray. The Prime Minister and President are at odds, as the PM is attempting to call a re-election. This could get bad, and quickly. The Rwandan President is advising Kenya to learn from their problems 15 years ago with the genocide, as it looks as though Kenya could be on this similar path of destruction.
At this halfway point in my venture, although I can attest to moments of extreme caution and awareness, I have also become extraordinarily content within each moment. Not only am I more sure of my role and place amidst my journey, but I have found a peace of mind in my expectations and what I had hoped to accomplish. I know these next few months will fly by, and I'm trying to hold on to as much as possible before leaving the paradox of complexity and simplicity that is Africa.
April 7, 2009
The Barachah Guesthouse
6 April, 2009 3:26am
"I've never before seen a person actually shake from fear" --Sanne
It was only a three day trip. The plan was to travel to Mombasa for a few days to promote bags and skirts sewn by the HIV women from KENWA. We could sell the products to the various hotels along beaches while at the same time stealing a chance to check out Old Town and the coast. We needed to budget. That's all we could think about as we searched our travel guides for the cheapest hostel we could find. The Barachah Guesthouse, at 900ksh($10) per night for a single room, seemed like the perfect option. Sanne and I are familiar with sharing a bed anyway, as privacy has become a foreign commodity whilst rooming together in Kenya. On Monday April 6th, at precisely 2:14am, a series of events occurred that taught me one of the biggest lessons I needed to learn. The Barachah Guesthouse...a name I now will not soon forget.
At the present moment, we're standing under a shaky fan in a box of a room, with dirty paint peeling off the walls, fluorescent lighting, t.v. in a locked metal frame, and one twin bed under a blue mosquito net. It's so hot my face is constantly beading with sweat, and it doesn't matter that the water spitting haphazardly out of the shower head is not warm. Before we arrived we hadn't showered in 4 days, so the sole availability of water in general is a highlight of the trip. I'm covered in mosquito bites and wish I could bathe in a tube of extra strength Benadryl. The night prior, we paid a cover charge and $2 per shot of gin just to enter the cheesiest discotec in all of Mombasa. The good news is despite my neglect to take anti-malarial pills, Sanne has just informed me that gin is actually used as a preventative as well. They used it in World War I, clinically proven. I'm safe for now. It's our last evening before heading back to Nairobi and, completely exhausted, we drifted off to sleep at about 9pm.
BANG! BANG! I'm lured awake. BANG! Eyes open. KICK! BANG! I jerk to my left towards Sanne and our eyes lock in alarm. CRACK! "SOMEONE'S BREAKING IN," we blurt out in unison as we tear off the mosquito net and jump to our feet. Before we realize the commotion is coming from next door, Sanne is already dressed and I've lunged toward the light. BANG BANG! I can't breathe. The only thing keeping our door shut is two small locks normally found on elementary school bathroom stalls. BANG! I'm searching. Frantically searching. WHERE DID I PUT MY KNIFE?? Where! I threw it. I threw it somewhere last night and I have no idea where it is. The entire contents of my backpack and purse are now spilled across the floor. I'm desperately tearing through every bag I have and I find a small bottle of gin. I can use this. I'm sure I can use it...maybe smash it across his head? I put it aside and finally locate the small Swiss Army knife hiding in a plastic bag with my towel. Sanne is at the edge of the bed with her pepper spray and she's silent, listening, waiting. I'm sweating profusely and I'm shaking. I'm actually convulsing, but can't stop. We are completely silent. Someone is breaking into the room next door. They are kicking the lock off the door and all I can think of is, as soon as they're done, we're next.
"Shhhhh," she whispers as I sit next to her, "It's okay, just be calm." How am I supposed to be calm when I'm preparing myself to fight for my life?? Do I even know how to use this knife?? Please let adrenaline take over. "Can we get out of the window?" I barely whisper. "No, I tried," she responds. Okay, so we're trapped. It's fight or flight, and since we only have one option left we're going to have to stop this person at our door. We turn off the ceiling fan so that we can hear what's going on, but there is only the rhythmic banging. "Maybe they're breaking in because they know no one is in there," she says. "Or maybe they think it's us," I expostulate. Neither the security guard nor hotel staff can be trusted, for godsake they're probably in on it. I'm still shaking, and I think what a terrible reaction I have to panic mode. I am also thinking that I'm a complete idiot for thinking two white girls can stay alone in a cheap hostel in a third world country. I am really scared. I've never been this afraid before. We're poised for what may happen next, and while both of us have our phones in hand, there is no one to call. I'm clutching my $20 Nokia mobile, but have no idea who I'm dialing. No one even knows we're here. Even if they did, there is not much that can be done at this point, it's up to us. BANG! BANG! Creeeaaaakkkk. They made it inside. Mild rummaging, a bottle breaks. Sanne is keeping me sane, but we both know the reality. If we're next, it will be any second now. I don't even know when it happened, but suddenly I see I'm completely dressed. What seems like hours pass, straining to hear any clue, until finally the iron-rod "security" door to the lobby squeaks open and shut. Ten more minutes pass and we hear voices from the hallway, speaking something other than Kiswahili. They sound stressed but I cannot understand what they're saying. We can hear the t.v. sets turn on from a few rooms, but we're still just squatting by our door. Afraid to show anyone we're inside, we rule out the option to go outside and decide just to hold out until daylight. At least for now the immediate danger has passed. The intruder is gone or, in any case, has not tried to break into our room. I wish more than anything I was in New York, safely inside an apartment with someone I can trust.
The fear has died down as we're lying on the bed, lights on, packed and waiting for the time to pass. Cautionary behavior still on high, voices at a low volume, we review the night. It's now 4:08am, just a few more hours. "I don't think I can sleep," says Sanne, as her heavy eyelids flutter closed. And then, leaving a hollow pit of dread in my stomach she adds, "You better be careful traveling alone in South Africa." I shift my gaze away from her, to the door, the t.v., and finally to the blue sheets beneath us... "I think I'll write."
It's almost sunrise. As I lie awake writing in this dingy hotel room, I hear the faint echo of the Muslim prayer sung over the loud speaker. It's become a chant of comfort for me, religiously occurring multiple times per day across the city of Mombasa. Heard from wherever you are, it's a sense of community, of belonging. It's a reminder that for these few minutes of reflection, in this world you are not alone. To be honest, this is hardly comparable to some of the things that happen to others while traveling. It could have been a million times worse and I realize that. However, it was an experience I needed to have, a character builder to make me wiser. My naivety begins to melt away and though I don't want to become jaded, I know my new mindset has already started formulating. I recently read the prologue to Emma's War, a book about a relief worker who married a warlord from Uganda. The author's final thought really rings true to my feelings about my experience thus far. She writes, "...the experiences of people like me, people who went there dreaming they might help and came back numb with disillusionment, yet forever marked."
"I've never before seen a person actually shake from fear" --Sanne
It was only a three day trip. The plan was to travel to Mombasa for a few days to promote bags and skirts sewn by the HIV women from KENWA. We could sell the products to the various hotels along beaches while at the same time stealing a chance to check out Old Town and the coast. We needed to budget. That's all we could think about as we searched our travel guides for the cheapest hostel we could find. The Barachah Guesthouse, at 900ksh($10) per night for a single room, seemed like the perfect option. Sanne and I are familiar with sharing a bed anyway, as privacy has become a foreign commodity whilst rooming together in Kenya. On Monday April 6th, at precisely 2:14am, a series of events occurred that taught me one of the biggest lessons I needed to learn. The Barachah Guesthouse...a name I now will not soon forget.
At the present moment, we're standing under a shaky fan in a box of a room, with dirty paint peeling off the walls, fluorescent lighting, t.v. in a locked metal frame, and one twin bed under a blue mosquito net. It's so hot my face is constantly beading with sweat, and it doesn't matter that the water spitting haphazardly out of the shower head is not warm. Before we arrived we hadn't showered in 4 days, so the sole availability of water in general is a highlight of the trip. I'm covered in mosquito bites and wish I could bathe in a tube of extra strength Benadryl. The night prior, we paid a cover charge and $2 per shot of gin just to enter the cheesiest discotec in all of Mombasa. The good news is despite my neglect to take anti-malarial pills, Sanne has just informed me that gin is actually used as a preventative as well. They used it in World War I, clinically proven. I'm safe for now. It's our last evening before heading back to Nairobi and, completely exhausted, we drifted off to sleep at about 9pm.
BANG! BANG! I'm lured awake. BANG! Eyes open. KICK! BANG! I jerk to my left towards Sanne and our eyes lock in alarm. CRACK! "SOMEONE'S BREAKING IN," we blurt out in unison as we tear off the mosquito net and jump to our feet. Before we realize the commotion is coming from next door, Sanne is already dressed and I've lunged toward the light. BANG BANG! I can't breathe. The only thing keeping our door shut is two small locks normally found on elementary school bathroom stalls. BANG! I'm searching. Frantically searching. WHERE DID I PUT MY KNIFE?? Where! I threw it. I threw it somewhere last night and I have no idea where it is. The entire contents of my backpack and purse are now spilled across the floor. I'm desperately tearing through every bag I have and I find a small bottle of gin. I can use this. I'm sure I can use it...maybe smash it across his head? I put it aside and finally locate the small Swiss Army knife hiding in a plastic bag with my towel. Sanne is at the edge of the bed with her pepper spray and she's silent, listening, waiting. I'm sweating profusely and I'm shaking. I'm actually convulsing, but can't stop. We are completely silent. Someone is breaking into the room next door. They are kicking the lock off the door and all I can think of is, as soon as they're done, we're next.
"Shhhhh," she whispers as I sit next to her, "It's okay, just be calm." How am I supposed to be calm when I'm preparing myself to fight for my life?? Do I even know how to use this knife?? Please let adrenaline take over. "Can we get out of the window?" I barely whisper. "No, I tried," she responds. Okay, so we're trapped. It's fight or flight, and since we only have one option left we're going to have to stop this person at our door. We turn off the ceiling fan so that we can hear what's going on, but there is only the rhythmic banging. "Maybe they're breaking in because they know no one is in there," she says. "Or maybe they think it's us," I expostulate. Neither the security guard nor hotel staff can be trusted, for godsake they're probably in on it. I'm still shaking, and I think what a terrible reaction I have to panic mode. I am also thinking that I'm a complete idiot for thinking two white girls can stay alone in a cheap hostel in a third world country. I am really scared. I've never been this afraid before. We're poised for what may happen next, and while both of us have our phones in hand, there is no one to call. I'm clutching my $20 Nokia mobile, but have no idea who I'm dialing. No one even knows we're here. Even if they did, there is not much that can be done at this point, it's up to us. BANG! BANG! Creeeaaaakkkk. They made it inside. Mild rummaging, a bottle breaks. Sanne is keeping me sane, but we both know the reality. If we're next, it will be any second now. I don't even know when it happened, but suddenly I see I'm completely dressed. What seems like hours pass, straining to hear any clue, until finally the iron-rod "security" door to the lobby squeaks open and shut. Ten more minutes pass and we hear voices from the hallway, speaking something other than Kiswahili. They sound stressed but I cannot understand what they're saying. We can hear the t.v. sets turn on from a few rooms, but we're still just squatting by our door. Afraid to show anyone we're inside, we rule out the option to go outside and decide just to hold out until daylight. At least for now the immediate danger has passed. The intruder is gone or, in any case, has not tried to break into our room. I wish more than anything I was in New York, safely inside an apartment with someone I can trust.
The fear has died down as we're lying on the bed, lights on, packed and waiting for the time to pass. Cautionary behavior still on high, voices at a low volume, we review the night. It's now 4:08am, just a few more hours. "I don't think I can sleep," says Sanne, as her heavy eyelids flutter closed. And then, leaving a hollow pit of dread in my stomach she adds, "You better be careful traveling alone in South Africa." I shift my gaze away from her, to the door, the t.v., and finally to the blue sheets beneath us... "I think I'll write."
It's almost sunrise. As I lie awake writing in this dingy hotel room, I hear the faint echo of the Muslim prayer sung over the loud speaker. It's become a chant of comfort for me, religiously occurring multiple times per day across the city of Mombasa. Heard from wherever you are, it's a sense of community, of belonging. It's a reminder that for these few minutes of reflection, in this world you are not alone. To be honest, this is hardly comparable to some of the things that happen to others while traveling. It could have been a million times worse and I realize that. However, it was an experience I needed to have, a character builder to make me wiser. My naivety begins to melt away and though I don't want to become jaded, I know my new mindset has already started formulating. I recently read the prologue to Emma's War, a book about a relief worker who married a warlord from Uganda. The author's final thought really rings true to my feelings about my experience thus far. She writes, "...the experiences of people like me, people who went there dreaming they might help and came back numb with disillusionment, yet forever marked."
Close call
It was already dark by the time the taxi pulled up to our gate. The time had come for us to leave the house for good, and it felt like a huge weight was lifted from our shoulders. We'd been having complications with Mama for quite some time now, but this was the final straw. Our bags we're packed and we were heading to Jane's home, a teacher I knew from my school. She recommended a taxi driver named Gikandi, since he apparently knew exactly where she lived. Surrendering independence is a tough reality in these circumstances. As we started down the road, in a car that stalled twice in a matter of seconds, we realized we had no idea where we were going, with a man we had never before met. The road became rougher, the lights dissipated, and the anxiety started to rise in my stomach. On the third turn down a dark, rocky, and narrow pathway, I decided this was not the best situation.
"Gikandi?" I nervously raise my voice. No answer. "GIKANDI????" This really might not even be the correct taxi driver. He's not responding and I decide this is quickly becoming a bad situation. "Gikandi, is this where Jane LIVES??" Nothing. Sanne, my roommate, abruptly jerks around to meet eye contact with me. Even in the dark the look on her face matches the feeling in my gut and a sudden panic and adrenaline ensues. I grab his shoulder, "GIKANDI???" He finally turns around. In a monotone response he says, "I don't know where Jane lives but I'm taking you to a place." PANIC. Full on survival mode. Seat belt unlatched. My eyes are darting around the car to see what collateral damage I'm about to lose regarding my belongings when I make my escape. I'm calculating my ejection from this car, immediately determining how I'll unlock and open the door and roll out of the moving vehicle with minimal physical damage. Damnit, I really don't want to give up that Kenya map I just bought, can I possibly grab it, AND my backpack before I take the leap? No. No Jen, definitely not, give it up. Sanne is dialing a number, I have no idea who, but I know we're thinking the same thing. "Pull over," she raises her voice to Gikandi, "PULL OVER!"
I'm trying to determine if this is a true threat. I know I can trust Jane...but can I? In the Rwanda genocide, neighbors and friends turned on each other. In the political massacre in Kenya last year, even family members were using weapons and rocks against one another. On top of that, poverty can make people do crazy things. I'm dialing Jane's number and as I reach her on the other line she's asking where I am. Suddenly Gikandi pulls the car over and his evil grin from earlier has transformed into an entertained smile, as it seems he's aware we've been spooked and no longer wants us to worry. As quick as the situation escalated, the mood has now lightened as Jane confirms the route he's taken and the interior light switches on.
In the end we made it to Jane's house in one piece. The driver was only joking with us, the vulnerable white girls at night. Honestly, I need to get it together. My consistently heightened sense of awareness is really starting to stress me out...
"Gikandi?" I nervously raise my voice. No answer. "GIKANDI????" This really might not even be the correct taxi driver. He's not responding and I decide this is quickly becoming a bad situation. "Gikandi, is this where Jane LIVES??" Nothing. Sanne, my roommate, abruptly jerks around to meet eye contact with me. Even in the dark the look on her face matches the feeling in my gut and a sudden panic and adrenaline ensues. I grab his shoulder, "GIKANDI???" He finally turns around. In a monotone response he says, "I don't know where Jane lives but I'm taking you to a place." PANIC. Full on survival mode. Seat belt unlatched. My eyes are darting around the car to see what collateral damage I'm about to lose regarding my belongings when I make my escape. I'm calculating my ejection from this car, immediately determining how I'll unlock and open the door and roll out of the moving vehicle with minimal physical damage. Damnit, I really don't want to give up that Kenya map I just bought, can I possibly grab it, AND my backpack before I take the leap? No. No Jen, definitely not, give it up. Sanne is dialing a number, I have no idea who, but I know we're thinking the same thing. "Pull over," she raises her voice to Gikandi, "PULL OVER!"
I'm trying to determine if this is a true threat. I know I can trust Jane...but can I? In the Rwanda genocide, neighbors and friends turned on each other. In the political massacre in Kenya last year, even family members were using weapons and rocks against one another. On top of that, poverty can make people do crazy things. I'm dialing Jane's number and as I reach her on the other line she's asking where I am. Suddenly Gikandi pulls the car over and his evil grin from earlier has transformed into an entertained smile, as it seems he's aware we've been spooked and no longer wants us to worry. As quick as the situation escalated, the mood has now lightened as Jane confirms the route he's taken and the interior light switches on.
In the end we made it to Jane's house in one piece. The driver was only joking with us, the vulnerable white girls at night. Honestly, I need to get it together. My consistently heightened sense of awareness is really starting to stress me out...
April 1, 2009
Part I
I came because I heard a cry
I flew across a clear blue sky
Dark nights lit by wars below
No one sees Sudan's light show
The irony in what I found
Discovered in hands tied and bound
Better be ready to reap what I sew
I learned what I never knew I never wanted to know
A story lies beneath the lines
It always does when the sun shines
But secrets root in shadowed vines
Just look close to see the signs
I washed my hands just to touch
Unbathed children that didn't care so much
Screams across Kenya's poverty
The reality is something we don't want to see
I heard a cry and I tried to find her
Selling mangoes with her children behind her
Umbrella up to shade the sun
When Kenya burned she lost everyone
We try to look as long as we can
See what we want, pretend to understand
Dig in our pockets, pay the social demand
Pat on the back when we lend a helping hand
Though dire, efforts are still deemed pathetic
Since the only hands that truly help are prosthetic
The answer is something slightly less poetic...
We want the truth but it's not pretty
It's messy, it's dirty, it's grimey and gritty
We want the key, the missing link
The truth is, it's not what we think
They see me and they want cash
Blame poverty on lack of jobs, while daily smoking hash
Kids on the street follow me around
When free food is offered at the orphanage downtown
Won't go because they're addicted to glue
But sister, making money is so much easier for you
Asking why they don't compare as a learning tool
But won't give up child abuse in public school
Thinking too much here can make someone crazy
I can't help you if you choose to be lazy
Anytime you start to talk to me
It ends up in something you want from me
You don't see me, you see your mission
How can I possibly make a decision
Offended by my disbelief in Christian visionaries
But this religion you believe came from white missionaries
Timing is everything when timing is something
Does dying mean anything when you're dying for nothing?
But before I come close to losing my mind
I remember the children so blameless and kind
The children so young, innocent and wide-eyed
I remember that this is what I fought to find
You take my hand, before I'm beguiled
Mtoto mrembo, beautiful child
I came because I heard a cry
I flew across a clear blue sky
I found the answer to my yearning
Fought hard to find what we should be learning
Africa hear me, I've come home
I heard a cry...but it was my own.
I flew across a clear blue sky
Dark nights lit by wars below
No one sees Sudan's light show
The irony in what I found
Discovered in hands tied and bound
Better be ready to reap what I sew
I learned what I never knew I never wanted to know
A story lies beneath the lines
It always does when the sun shines
But secrets root in shadowed vines
Just look close to see the signs
I washed my hands just to touch
Unbathed children that didn't care so much
Screams across Kenya's poverty
The reality is something we don't want to see
I heard a cry and I tried to find her
Selling mangoes with her children behind her
Umbrella up to shade the sun
When Kenya burned she lost everyone
We try to look as long as we can
See what we want, pretend to understand
Dig in our pockets, pay the social demand
Pat on the back when we lend a helping hand
Though dire, efforts are still deemed pathetic
Since the only hands that truly help are prosthetic
The answer is something slightly less poetic...
We want the truth but it's not pretty
It's messy, it's dirty, it's grimey and gritty
We want the key, the missing link
The truth is, it's not what we think
They see me and they want cash
Blame poverty on lack of jobs, while daily smoking hash
Kids on the street follow me around
When free food is offered at the orphanage downtown
Won't go because they're addicted to glue
But sister, making money is so much easier for you
Asking why they don't compare as a learning tool
But won't give up child abuse in public school
Thinking too much here can make someone crazy
I can't help you if you choose to be lazy
Anytime you start to talk to me
It ends up in something you want from me
You don't see me, you see your mission
How can I possibly make a decision
Offended by my disbelief in Christian visionaries
But this religion you believe came from white missionaries
Timing is everything when timing is something
Does dying mean anything when you're dying for nothing?
But before I come close to losing my mind
I remember the children so blameless and kind
The children so young, innocent and wide-eyed
I remember that this is what I fought to find
You take my hand, before I'm beguiled
Mtoto mrembo, beautiful child
I came because I heard a cry
I flew across a clear blue sky
I found the answer to my yearning
Fought hard to find what we should be learning
Africa hear me, I've come home
I heard a cry...but it was my own.
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