Am I Afrikan?

My passport is green. The glorious green of aloe leaves or trees in late summer.

My skin is freckled. Flickered with flecks of moments spent under this sun.

My heart breaks. A hurting history means I watch flowers grow from stained mud and feel petals fall on graves.

Many may ask,

โ€œWhere are you from?โ€

And many may say,

โ€œOh, really?!โ€

My smile will stretch and my heart will swell because, although these bones are my only home, I am South African and of the Afrikan soil.

 

I am Afrikan because I am of this place and these people; shaped by the past and promised to the future.

 

Originally published on SpeakAfrika

 

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