I am Afrika!

[Kulmiye]

I am Afrikan diary- I am the blood in congo, the droughts at the horn, and the refugees in Darfur. I am the half naked kids, and the barefooted women with baskets in their heads. I am the paradise of a black love, and the aftermath of slavery. I am the queen of many great civilizations, the ritual of hope, and the cold streams of tribal clash. I am the story of revolution, an epic of violent, and the setback of colonial rule. I am the victim of conventional pity, the million guns they supply, and foreign aid debt. I am the warm breeze of the Nile, the blue sky of Mali, and the scent of Ethiopian coffee. I am the clean line of the Kenyan horizon, as well as the heat of Morocco. I am the open wave of Ivory Coast, and the nomads of Djibouti. I am the drums of Sudan, the smooth jazz they recite in Somali, and the smile of Uganda. I am the diamonds of Sierra Leone and the cattle’s of Botswana’. I am the charms of Cameroon girl, and the scholars of Timbuktu. I am the pride of a lion, and the custom of Adam. I’ am the chief of abantu, and the mother of zulu. I am the Royal Kingdom of Askia the Great, Mansa Musa, Haile Selassie, and the spirit of Samory Toure. I am the civil voice of Nelson Mandela, the vigilance of Malcolm and the memory of Marcus Curvy. I am Africa and “I owe my being to the hills and the valleys, the mountains and the glades, the rivers, the deserts, the trees, the flowers, the seas and the ever-changing seasons that define the face of our native land.

 

By, Kulmiye

[Humming bird]

WOW..that delicious!!

need i say that I love it? Love the imagery..i felt as if i had 1 minute African tour.

 

thanks

[Kulmiye]

Thank you H. Bird:)

[Kulmiye]

This weary sunset had seen the cloud of my past. It has seen the strength of my mother, the fast waves of my ocean in a windy morning. It has seen the gleams of a peaceful soil in a summer afternoon, the scent of fresh papaya while birds loop to settle in yew leaves after midnight storm. Listen, before the mayhem and the ruins scattered in the dirt, I was a sweet nest. I was a pride of a trading empire and served as a coast-host of art conventions and cargos of gold. I was the court field where ancient empires settle their disputes, and ideas were exchanged –and now? And now I stare down in an empty space were war erased the virtue of past civilizations. Yes, this sunset has seen the dusty feet’s of nomads rolling along the hills Shabeele. It had seen youth dance at twilights, and tea venders singing in June. It has seen soul mates sitting under a tree with long leaves-listening to old songs until the stars appear. It has seen the shackles of colonial repression; as my ancestors lay in bed paralyzed with fear at midnight. It has seen young Afro’s fighting back in defense that ended in murder. It has heard the despair for liberty and seen the tears of grief. It has seen the face of dictatorship, and the spills of anarchy. It has seen the streams of blood after a tribal clash, and men who wage war against each other all for small sand. It has seen school children reciting the Quran in a wood-board, and old men milking poetry tune in a rainy noon. It has seen the expression of poverty, and burden without retribution. This setting sun has seen a journalist crying for protection after U.S. missiles had injured a civilian and life stocks without a warrant, it has seen the scene of crooks dressing in Sheikh’s custom. It has seen a woman in ******ia comforting a seed for seven moons only to be assaulted by Ethiopian pullet machine. It has seen hyenas laughing as they preyed on their victims, while vultures grew fat feeding on carcasses, and birds swarm above the oak trees singing sad lullabies . It has seen a lady, so fragile and so weak watching her only daughter begin stoned to death. Hurting and crying shacking with anguish she grasp for air hoping the lord will lend her hand- So I have came to admire this sun cause it has stood and shine on through all my pain.

 

Kulmiye. Ali

[Kulmiye]

In this particular occasion I want to write about a lenient doubt, and course of realization; a thought of which literally reduced me into a bundle of sheer sentiments.

 

Yo, I have realized that I have been a lost sheep for so long, showering my *** with commercial materials of misguided culture which has substantially been corrupted by Corporate America and the sellouts in BET. I realized how sorry I am for any child who will grew up fatherless, and by any means will look up to someone in the media with no morals or value to offer them guidance.

 

I have realized that I want my ink to be jubilant spirit for young King’s and Queen’s who have been neglected under the vicious circumstances back home, and generations of Nomads who are now engulfed in crisis everywhere.

 

I have realized that many of us are searching for a dream; a fantasy that is manifested through western media. Thus many of us are willing to sale our souls and be a kiss-ass’ as long as it gave us the benefit to swim upstream in this capitalism world.

 

I have realized that it's very common to see Somalis in rallies, protesting against the injustice in places like Palestine and Guantanamo Bay, yet they never shed a light on their own conditions back home.

 

I have realized that the odd issue in our community is that we have too many preachers, yet there is a shortage of men who are willing to fellow their pretty speeches with action. I have realized that there is a thin line between our people and the term community; which in many levels makes our kids vulnerable to the western values and customs.

I have realized that as Somalis we lack the civil laws to undertake and understand the moral issues in our community. I have realized that we don’t acknowledge the struggles of our past and rarely give the time to appreciate the freedom so many have died for.

I have realized that so many of us are tired of wars without a cause, and constant bloodshed between the same people. I have realized the burden of poverty and the pain of losing someone you love dearly.

 

I have realized that I have missed the sand heat, the fresh milk, and the timbre of gossiping men in tea- shacks. I have realized i am tired of writing this’ so I decided to stop.

 

Kulmiye@Copy Right.

[Kulmiye]

I wonder which one is more tragic; Not having a country or watching the horror scenes of people stripped naked out of their customs and value systems? Dear Diary which one is worst watching- Our youth gulping thin air from a dirty bottles in a hookah bars or watching neglected sisters roaming three in the morning wearing miniskirts and see-through panties as they go in and out clubs? Dear diary, which is more scary; a mother burying her son after finding out he was involved in a drug raid, or the one burying the ashes of Al-Shabaab recruitment? Dear diary, which one is more horrible? The ongoing prosecution of refugees in South Africa whom were hoping for salvation only to become the victims of discrimination, or the imprisoned father of five kids whom justice had been denied to him because he was wrongly convicted for working with Al-Qaida? Looking through the mirror feeling ugly and confuse. At the root of our confusion is a condition of self-hate. Probably explains why our precious sisters are rocking blond hair and blue eyes more and more. Just when you thought we were brought to swimming upstream, shit I guess the struggle is our best friend. AND NOW THEY’RE SENDING CHILDREN TO FIGHT THEIR BATTLES, ISNT THAT A SHAME?

 

Kulmiye@Copy Right.

[Kulmiye]

.....