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I am a legitimate son of Africa

I was born and brought up in poverty so abject. Born to a father and mother with nothing but love in their hearts. I have walked without clothes and had half a cup of porridge for my lunch and supper. I have felt the scorch of the earth on my young, pattering feet during the December noon sun. I have lived in want and heartbreak but my mother taught me to be African. ‘Son we can live till tomorrow and as long as we have our breath, we won’t die today. She taught me to be true to what we believed in, to walk the path that our ancestors made. They always taught me to believe poverty was temporary, that I would one day drive the big cars and live in fancy buildings. ‘As a legitimate son of Africa, you only gave up the fight with death, the rest, you fight, get whooped, stand and fight again.’ That she always told me. We have lived through brawls and wars with neighbours, petty conflicts and though nature shook us to the roots of our existence, we always believed we would rise off the dust and beat the odds. I’ve fought my whole life and earned the simple life i lead now. I’ve fought hard enough to at least get some education and this small computer. I am a legitimate son of Africa, for I have earned what I call mine, for I have bought me by a hefty price of hard work. I am a legitimate son of Africa for i have stayed true to my hustles and bustles. If i die today, let my epitaph read, here lieth a legitimate son, he who took comfort in little and rejoiced in every little grace that came his way. I definitely ain’t great but i know what my mama taught me, persistence. I know i shall earn my right to be the ultimately true son of the continent. I live in Africa, it lives in me.

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