Foreigners, You Are Welcome
Wageni mwakaribishwa
in the name of the sugar cane
the thick banana trees pregnant with hard work,
watered with
sweat
and tears that fall from honey eyes
the whites stung with yellow by the
wasps of disease-
eyes that smile, nonetheless
as the stroke of the machete fells
years of sacrifice
just to give us a taste
of what they have
that is worth fighting for
Wageni mwakaribishwa
in the name of the drying mud
pounded by the feet of children
who delight in the sight
of our pale moon skin
feet calloused to the rocks of the
unpaved roads they run
fleet as the gods of wind
just to give us a taste
of what they have
that is worth running for
Wageni mwakaribishwa
in the name of the tasteless ugali
dipped and rolled in the juices of
a freshly slaughtered chicken
the blood of a dignity
that could rival ten thousand princes
held in the thin necks
and gnarled backs, warped with time
and the indifference of spineless nations-
at least they have the bones to
hold them up,
these simple village people with their
simple village joys;
and their bottomless hearts
and their borderless dreams:
these they show us
just to give us a taste
of what it’s like
to be worth dying for.
[Published in The Wayfarer (online & in print, Homebound Publications)]
