Nabadda was born in Africa
But now as a slave to “Carol light” she liveth
Her skin the color of the sun kissed anthill turned pale waters of silted rivers
Her high cheek bones fell like the valleys of nyanza
Her mind whispered petty lies of how her beauty surpassed the peacock
But our eyes saw the “kizike” she had become
The eyes that once bathed in the freshness of kachumbali now hid deep in the sunken pits of misery.
Her lips were not full, no!
They covered the larger part of her protuberant face
And we mourned!!
We mourned the beauty of Africa!
Her skin was now a cocktail of shades
We missed the nubile that fed our pupil with the impeccable shine in her midnight skin
That radiance that lit in her eyes each time she exposed her white teeth
We missed the red gum between her teeth, that gum that told stories of her heritage
She had given all this up
Traded it for tattered rags of pale yellow complexion
A colour that reminded us of ghosts haunting our kraals
And dead men fighting for breath
She now hid her hair behind ropes of dead hair
That hair that the maize kob envied was no more
Her lips were covered in blood
And like a hungry fox she stared at our veins
The white man took her soul
He robbed us of our daughter
The queen of the fireplace dance
The god of the hearts of men
Oh! The white man robbed us
He robbed Africa of Nabbada
To those that started on the life series we will be continuing next week.
Am trying out story telling in poetry it’s not easy I must say but I have decided to challenge myself.
For women’s day there is something cooking.
Otherwise have a beautiful week.