I have a desire.
I am not yet sure what it is, but I know there is something that is pushing me forward. I feel compelled.
Life is beautiful to me. There are so many places I want to go, there are so many things I want to do, there are so many people I want to love, and all of this before I die. There is someone I want to become again.
When I lived in Africa, I got sunburned on Christmas Day. And the next day it rained until my roof caved in. This world is a crazy place! When I walked along the streets I played with the children, soccer and cricket. We laughed and they rubbed my skin and called me names. People would touch my hands. We fell in love: I with the people and the people with me. When they told me their stories I would listen and pray to God I would remember all of them. I want to remember all of them.
The point is that I was alive there. I was born from the combination of Anesu's childish smiles, acacia trees through a combi window, and Charity Chikwadzi's tears because I was moving away. From Christmas sunburns, sadza and vegetables, and soccer matches with black children who called me Wayne Rooney. From the hearts, lungs, and minds of the people I loved more than myself, I became someone I loved.
But I was robbed of my life; it was stolen from me! I contracted Typhoid Fever after 20 months and I started to die. Physically, I was dying: I had to come home and suffer here until the doctors could figure out how to fix my deteriorating body. I had that fear of death that you never really have until it is getting way to close.
And the worst of all is that my soul- that part of me that came to fruition in the sub-savanna of Zimbabwe and Zambia- has left me. I was murdered! I have spent the years since silently crying and wishing that I could feel that warmth again.
I was born in Africa and I died in Africa.
I am now praying that I can resurrect my soul from the ashes. I know that I can. I know that it will take everything I have, but I know that I can.
I know that the clouds will clear and that the sun will rise.
And that the sun will rise.
Life is beautiful to me. There are so many places I want to go, there are so many things I want to do, there are so many people I want to love, and all of this before I die. There is someone I want to become again.
When I lived in Africa, I got sunburned on Christmas Day. And the next day it rained until my roof caved in. This world is a crazy place! When I walked along the streets I played with the children, soccer and cricket. We laughed and they rubbed my skin and called me names. People would touch my hands. We fell in love: I with the people and the people with me. When they told me their stories I would listen and pray to God I would remember all of them. I want to remember all of them.
The point is that I was alive there. I was born from the combination of Anesu's childish smiles, acacia trees through a combi window, and Charity Chikwadzi's tears because I was moving away. From Christmas sunburns, sadza and vegetables, and soccer matches with black children who called me Wayne Rooney. From the hearts, lungs, and minds of the people I loved more than myself, I became someone I loved.
But I was robbed of my life; it was stolen from me! I contracted Typhoid Fever after 20 months and I started to die. Physically, I was dying: I had to come home and suffer here until the doctors could figure out how to fix my deteriorating body. I had that fear of death that you never really have until it is getting way to close.
And the worst of all is that my soul- that part of me that came to fruition in the sub-savanna of Zimbabwe and Zambia- has left me. I was murdered! I have spent the years since silently crying and wishing that I could feel that warmth again.
I was born in Africa and I died in Africa.
I am now praying that I can resurrect my soul from the ashes. I know that I can. I know that it will take everything I have, but I know that I can.
I know that the clouds will clear and that the sun will rise.
And that the sun will rise.
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