Our Moon

POEM BY WATSON MUSHIMBEI, CLASS OF 2019

I’m not black; I’m African

My skin colour doesn’t define me, but my heritage does

The choices I make and the path I take glorify my blood

My people are not your stereotype

I’m not black, I’m African

My strength is what I am

My weakness is what I’m not

I am that I am

And I’m not black; I’m African.

You call me black because black is the absence of light

And, thus, you make me feel as if I’m living in darkness.

You call me black because you wear black at funerals

And, thus, you convince me that my dreams are dead.

You call me black because black rhymes with lack and white with might

And, thus, you make feel as if I’ll never have enough.

You call me black because black is for the devil and white is for angels and saints

And, thus, you make me believe that God cursed my soul beyond redemption.

You call me black because black Friday is cheap

And, thus, you convince me that I can never afford my freedom.

You call me black because black absorbs the most heat

And so you use that as an excuse to beat me and my people down and discredit our pain.

I’m not black; I’m African

Because Africa has wealth

Africa has culture

Africa has swag.

Black is nothing

Black is void

Black is a hole that sucks you in a whirlwind of oppression

And never gives you the opportunity to escape.

Black is stress

Black is death

Black is nothing.

I’m not black; I’m African