The sun is shining, the wilderness is amazing.
An African child is up again, to face another day. From above the mountain, Africa can be seen. It is a shining pearl. Love it or hate, it’s a cradle of mankind.
Please sit down. Let us talk about culture. Walk me through the valleys of culture and traditions. Tell me the great tales of humanity. Let us talk about humanity. Talking about culture is hard, isn’t it? Most people do not want to hear about your culture. They want theirs to dominate. Yours is primitive. Mostly dangerous is that more than few people care about culture nowadays. To them culture is a dead end. They look at me with a scorn when I dare mention the word. Whom can we blame? I promise to listen, every culture matters.
I can still hear those echoes; let us preserve our cultures and traditions. For real? Let us dance again to that lovely song. That song of heroism as we emerged from the cold river, in the coldest morning of the month. When we became men through teachings and discipline and not just a new year. I can still hear our women’s ululation. Who said we do not honor them? Wouldn’t they click our wounded groin if we showed no respect? Above all, are we not just like any other societies, where men and women should be allowed to mistakes sometimes? Why are we condemned then?
When are we going to spend the nights dancing while feeling the light from stars and the moon? What happened to that life, full of respect to cultures and traditions? That life which truly meant what it said and offered nothing but justice? Does it still practically mean it takes a village to raise a child? Do we still drink our “juice” using a calabash?
Here in North America, they have what they call “values”. I feel dumb that I am yet to understand what they mean by that. Do they mean what they say though? Nevertheless, I respect their opinion, even when they choose not to respect mine. Even when they choose to think from my home comes wars and diseases alone. When they choose to ignore the fact that I too bleed, sweat and die.
I choose to stand on top of the mountain and blow the trumpets of justice, love and all that counts. I honor the grain of wheat. It must die first in order to give a way to another life. What if you and I were also just like the grain of wheat? Who or what would you die for? Please tell me! You know what I would die for, don’t you?