We have heard the narrative.

That Africa is a backward continent black as the people who covers its soils

That if the world was a house then Africa would be the attic.

Where broken toys are hid,

Hideous memories are forgotten,

Broken frames of life are left for spider to build upon their webs

Unused caskets are cased

Demons are allowed to roam freely.

And so we have heard.


We have heard that Africa is one big classical Roman Empire

One big arena of gladiators every soul seeking survival over the other one’s death

And so the world sit back on their pews and watch clash of tribes as they lynch one another to the ground

Tyrants and dictators skinning the people as if gnawing at their sweat is not enough

And when the entertainers are about to eradicate themselves

A humanitarian hero steps into the picture to save…

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