poestory

hello, I’m finally done with finals and I can finally turn my life around and do all the things I always dream about doing during school like sleep, eat, drink, read and repeat that cycle over and over until I start begging to go back to school.

For now, I decided to start a series of stories contained in poems, let me know what you think. To start off, I wrote this poem about suicide for an African, and more particularly a Congolese. You are taught that life is sacred and no matter how bad it gets, there’s always hope, but there’s some stuff you just can’t let go. I dedicate this to all brothers and sisters from the East of Congo: Even when the world has forgotten about you, I won’t.

My life
this life of yours isn’t yours
But It belongs to God and your community
When I was 12 years
I weighed 75 kilos(140 lbs)
And I was 1meters 52 centimeters(5ft tall)
I found a man who hanged himself on a tree
It was our neighbor Sir Mukoli
I ran to mommy who ran to daddy who ran to his family and friends who ran back to the dead man
They told me to stay in the house
I was told later that he got whipped and spit on
Then he was buried
Few cried
Many were angry
I was told
This life of yours isn’t yours
But its for God and your community
I was married to a beautiful wife
And had two beautiful girls
When they came
They were like grasshoppers
Killing and devouring what family have planted with sweat and blood
They raped my neighbor’s wife
Then they raped my wife and my girls
They made me watch it
I wished it was a dream
I knew I was in Hell
But I was told
This life of yours isn’t yours
It belongs to God and the community
I have been planning it for a month
My family has been keeping
An eye on me
like a nurse on a suicide watch
As if they knew
I was already gone

Ready to join my loved ones
They refused to hear me talk like that
So I lied that I was ok
I started going to work the field
Like before it happened
Then one day I left home
With the pictures of my wife and daughters
I passed the cord on my neck
and chose the biggest branch of the sad looking baobab.
But I was told
This life of yours isn’t yours
But it belongs to God and the community.

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3 thoughts on “poestory

  1. Chilling, but you had to write it. Now, try to explain to Africans why our collective culture can at times stifle individuals from expressing personal opinion, emotion, hurt and choice. They will say, “This life isn’t yours but it belongs to God and your community.” At which point you will get so angry you’ll reach for a drink (vodka).

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