Half of a Yellow Sun

" 7. The Book: The World Was Silent When We Died

For the epilogue, he writes a poem, modeled after one of Okoema's poems. He calls it: "WERE YOU SILENT WHEN WE DIED?"

Did you see photos in sixty-eight Of children with their hair becoming rust: Sickly patches nestled on those small heads, Then falling off like rotten leaves on dust? Imagine children with arms like toothpicks. With footballs for bellies and skin stretched thin. It was kwashiorkor-difficult word, A word that was not quite ugly enough, a sin. You needn't imagine. There were photos Displayed in gloss-filled pages of your Life. Did you see? Did you feel sorry briefly, Then turn round to hold your lover or wife? Their skin had turned the tawny of weak tea And showed cobwebs of vein and brittle bone; Naked children laughing, as if the man Would not take photos and then leave, alone. "

Half of a Yellow Sun
Ngozi Adichie Chimamanda

This still happens, our circumstances and living conditions are like a model on a catwalk...centre of attention for applauses that don't feed no family, clothe no child, protect no community...we are article features for the world's pity. They come into our complexes, our neighborhoods, walk our streets, and tour like they would at an amusement park. They listen to our sad stories, record them for their research papers to keep the cycle of frustrations disguised through statistics, going. They take glossy pictures of our faded smiles, filled with hope that maybe we'll become better, make it to the Bourgeoisie Club, be counted amongst Afrika's Black Diamonds. We are pART of this parade, selling our own people secondhand dreams.

What have we become? Who are we living for? Who's Afrika are we building? For whom, are we building Afrika for? When will we realise we are the Sun that rises and shine in Afrika? Yes.

WE ARE THE SUN THAT RISES AND SHINES, IN AFRIKA.