We can all be refugees – nobody is safe.
I come from a rich country where they shot me for gold, copper, silver, iron and Aluminium.
I come from a musical place where they shot me for my song.
Brother has been tortured by my own brother in my land.
I come from a beautiful place where they hate me for my shade of skin.
They don’t like the way I pray and they burn my relatives who need their peace.
I come from a beautiful place where girls cannot go to school.
There you are told what to believe.
We can all be refugees – we can all be told to go.
We can be hated by someone for being someone.
I come from a beautiful place where the valley floods each year, and each year the hurricane tells us we must keep moving on.
I come from a sunny, sandy place where tourists go to darken skin and dealers like to sell guns.
I just can’t tell you the price –
I am told I have no country now
I am told I am a liar
I am told I am that model history books may forget my name.
We can all be refugees – sometimes it only takes a day, sometimes it only takes a day, sometimes it only takes a handshake or a paper that is signed.
We all come from refugees – nobody is here without a struggle.
And why should we live in fear of weather or trouble?
We all come from somewhere to somewhere.
A poem by Fred Kayembe-Nzamba, CEPCOM English Language Instructor, 2015