Talk of variety, range and diversity

And the topic comes out in clarity,

With more than forty in the state

And having different proprietors.



No more is it a blessing

But the opposite cropping up,

Scores having paid

For crimes they did not commit.



“Do you belong here?” They will ask.

Talk of belonging, And I present myself,

Though I never intended to be where I am;

I appreciate the fact that, I was born among them.



No more do we talk of HIV virus, But a different virus indeed,

Racial diversity in the Diaspora,

And ethnic discrimination at home,

Home being a country in the ’black‘ continent.



They denied me my right,Just because I’m not one of them,

‘Give us your sir-name!’ He demanded

‘Where do you come from?’ She shouted,

When I inquired whether I could use the public utility.



They stigmatized me ,Since I was not one of their tribesmen,

They called me an intruder, Not forgetting to insult my kinsmen.

Those were my workmates,

Who assisted me in building the nation.



I find it hard to call them colleagues.

Due to what they put me through.

Being a contractor,I was given a task to handle,

All went well, until I was commissioned to a different town.



Being the only member of my community

I underwent many challenges in the company,

I was named a mompara, insulted a misfortune

And baptized a disgrace anytime and Every time I made a slight mistake.



‘Man is to error,’ I would explain

Thinking that this would do me a favor,

How wrong was I? Instead of understanding,

More insults would rain on me.



They would mock my kinsmen, Illiterate and uncouth creatures they would say.

Hearing this, invisible tears trickled down my cheeks,

I gave a voiceless cry to my ghost audience,

But none of this made my situation better.



The worst of all was my big man.

As my workmates did all this,

My boss watched them with smiling eyes,

Encouraging them to be my slave drivers.



Being in need of patience to withstand this,

I  requested for a transfer,

And now that I’m back to my ancestral grounds,

I will intercede for them, For they are unaware of their deeds.



Though still jobless,

I prefer my new state,

For better ‘jobless and happy’

Than being contracted with sadists.



Having listened  to part of my story,

I now beg you,

to give me a hand,

In murdering this ugly vice.



The vice that has shredded our motherland,

And threatened to create a rift among our noble statesmen.

Let’s join hands together, And murder this rot.

Embrace nationalism and not tribalism.