Lisa Bokani Motsu a returning writer, is a Christian young girl aged 18 who has found the love in writing as she believes that writing is the core of life. Just from a tender age writing has always been her passion. Her best interest is going to church because in the house of God she feels his presence. She Apostolic Faith Mission Church of Portland Oregon she strives to live above sin. She can testify to say that Jesus lives and He can save. Enjoy!
I was a black child so they rejected me. Their anger towards me was very intense, failing to understand the simple concept that, they do not know I was born that way just from the day I was received into this earth. Oh yes! It is my colour, a black coloured child and please be my guest to call me a “black child” atleast this time I do not really mind and you know why?
I am an African child. The daughter who was born and raised in the low land of this earthly soil.
Like loam soil, she portrays the characteristics of being rich in colour and her texture is thick and vibrant. If I told you that the sun is at fault for darkening my skin, I would be lying. I would further drug you with lies if I cautioned you to not look at me.
Allow me to tell you something, those of you who oppressed us from centuries that gone are the days where our mothers had to be your servants, to the point where they were forced to wipe your feet. That was the only way they could feed us, their black children. Gone are the long days that dragged behind when our fathers had to work their sweat off in large fields, the sun rays joining in the sad fun as it pierced in their skin. It was the only way they could put food on the table. The deteriorating days that were slow and the job of a white man was to watch from a distance in a comfort zone while them, the blacks did the dirty work.
They would shout, roar, beat very hard and kick them. The blacks were left with no alternative but to stand and suffer the heart wrecking turmoil acts. Trapped in a puddle we were, they took our hope and faith to savage it. Trying by all means to fight for what was ours, sadly we were not the mighty goliaths so they regarded us as microorganisms, they crushed us to bits leaving us deserted as if we were invisible. It was all because we were black right? The colour that you, privileged people from the past hated so much and it filled your hearts with anger just because of the colour that clothed our flesh. With all your effort, you despised with all your nasty judgements. The hatred you had for us, you made it visible and even forced it in our mouths,using our pre-molars we had chew thoroughly before we ought to digest the racism you gave us as our breakfast,lunch and supper.
The “do this” and “do that” were always your everyday words.Taking into account the names that befell on us that did nothing but leave a disgraced captured image on us.The names that we never knew even their meaning.We looked up at the heavens with the hopes that Almighty Father would physically come down and rescue us from the ill treatment filled with wrath. The words that you uttered from your mouths that shattered our hearts, the excessive labour. All these inhuman acts implicated our health being, the beating that left heavy and permanent scars on our bodies.
Robbing our innocent women and young girls of their womanhood that resulted in sorrowful tears riding on their faces.
There came a day when all this wrath of nonsense had to die and end. The day came when our legends of Africa or should I say, “our heroes ” to rescue us from the land of bondage. Our good chapter of living begun. Like Jesus Christ, we also rose from the dead. Yes! We did rise from the grave that buried us. Yes, we survived the hard rocks and oppressive forests. I would look at the sky in the morning dew and say, “A special gratitude to our legends.” Years going forth, I still thank God for creating me black. He is the Potter, I am the clay so He found it perfect and absolutely right to cloth me with this flesh. I am a June 16 child and so it makes me an African child.
Africans we have wiped our tears and as time went by we have stood firm to let go of our fears.
We are now free and let us have minds that are not characterized with fear and our heads held up high without pride. Yes, we were despised and rejected, our hearts with wounded sorrow but that is ancient history now. Let us put it behind us. They might have called us black dogs but it did not even for a second change the fact that we were black. It is not up for us to judge them because we do not have that authority only God does.
They say white is a colour for special occasions and black is the colour for everyday. My flesh is black but my mind is not eroded with black thoughts. Zerah is my middle name and I am black,black,black.
I am an African Child
With Love, LBM