Tell Africa, it’s time to wake up
The yellow-skinned boy with
hair like the white man’s chalk
Is an albino
Not an ingredient in the native doctor’s concoction
Nkechi who lives down the street
Is a beautiful girl with dreams
Not just the little person no one loves
Not the symbol of evil spirits in moonlight tales.
Tell Africa, there are others
With white patches on their skin
Tell her it is called vitiligo
And that they are not witches
Tell Africa about her children
Those who hide behind closed doors
Crying for their mother’s love
Seeking protection from the cold words without.
Tell Africa, some of these children
Are now in the huts of her co-wives
They are prospering and doing well
Filling the stranger’s barn with yams
What they call bad luck and misfortune
Are genetic disorders
Another reminder of the diversity
The kind Africa knows too well
Wife to none, mother to all
It is time to speak up
Speak up and save your children
Mother Africa, are we not also your children?
About the author:
Ruth Torty is first a Christian, then Biochemist and Biotechnology & Healthcare content writer. She is passionate about creating awareness about genetic disorders. She also enjoys watching IAAF championships, reading novels and praying.
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