There is a strange country
where the sun rises
and another day begins
a country held together
by borders drawn by hands
that never learned the names
of the rivers they crossed
Here, the earth remembers
It remembers
footsteps older than roads
the language of drums
before the language of guns
the hands that planted millet
and called the rain by its first name
In this country
children are taught the ABCs
before they learn that
some letters belong to strangers
they grow up knowing
the sound of an engine
before that of an opportunity
And still they laugh
God, how they laugh
they laugh beneath corrugated roofs
when the rain arrives
they dance at weddings
with tomorrow sitting quietly in a corner
they make a feast
from almost nothing
and somehow leave with enough to share
There are cities
full of lights
while the villages behind them
remain in the dark
there are villages that
carry whole histories
in the wrinkles of old women
sitting beneath wild trees
The soil is red
it stains your shoes
it stays there after the rain
perhaps that is why
everything grows so fiercely
cassava, maize, jacaranda
anger, music
hope
Hope especially
It survives
elections
empty promises
broken hospitals
long queues
children in the dust looking for reasons to believe
it survives mothers
who count their children twice
once before the night
and once after
This is a strange country
a place where the dead
are never completely gone
they speak through names
they return in songs
it is a place where the past
is not behind you
it walks beside you
it follows you home
And yet
morning keeps coming
The markets open
the buses fill
children go to school
someone sweeps yesterday from the doorway
someone falls in love
someone writes a poem
on the back of a receipt
someone plants a tree
whose shade they will never sit in
Maybe this is the strangest part
a place can be so wounded
and still make music
after everything, the children
still look upward when the clouds gather
they wait for the rain
they wait for the thunder
they wait because the sky still has something to say
There is beauty here
there is damage too
some of it is easy to see
some of it is not
every morning
the country wakes up again
life carries on
there is still so much to fix
there is still so much to love
this is a strange country
and somehow
it is home
