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Africa
What I saw
Kids, kids and even more kids
on the roads, in the dust
walking, running, jumping
Carrying big loads on their heads
they were trying to sell
fruit, bread, all kinds of things
Dusty and dirty
they turned their faces towards me
curious, they looked and smiled
I looked into their happy eyes
Women with bundles on their backs
kids in the bundles, contented kids
always close to their mothers
Observing the world around them
with bright, sharp eyes
Or sleeping, maybe dreaming
About what?
Roadsides teeming with life
Market stalls, big and small
pots boiling on oil burners
vegetables, bread and meat
The women always on their way somewhere
straight backs, their burdens on their heads
Enamel basins, plastic baskets,
bundles of wood
I saw just about everything
carried on their heads
The cars and the mopeds on the
roads
ruthless, reckless hands on the hooters
churning up dust from the roadside
The roadsides where kids played, lived, grew up
Kids - the dirty and the dusty
Kids - the happy and the curious
Palm trees lining the roads
sometimes red in the dust
churned up by the cars
Endless palm beaches
where the waves beat on the seashore
booming in the dark, almost fearsome
Waves from the ocean devouring the seashore
bit by bit, bit by bit
People on the banks of streams
washing clothes in buckets
soap, water and bucket,
sometimes a scrubbing brush
All sort of clothes, garments big and small
there was room for them all in the bucket
and they were all rinsed in the stream
where there was hardly any water
Then, all the women
carrying the washing home
in big enamel basins or in baskets
in buckets - all on their heads
People bending over the wells
hauling up water in buckets on ropes
Water for their allotments
for crops, battling against the drought
against the sun and the heat
The traffic in the towns
cars, mopeds, exhaust fumes and dust
In the midst of it all
young men, only boys really
selling things, all sorts of things
in the hope of making a bit of money
for food, a dwelling, for clothes
Youngsters fleeing from the countryside
in the hope of a better life
in the town, among the vehicles
in the fumes and the dust
Beggars, sick and poor
stretching out their hands
towards me, towards us, towards the help
that maybe never came
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What I thought
Who am I
to come here looking
Observing everything from above, askance
Not part of it but touched
Deep in my heart
Have I the right to come here
Have I the right to be here
Have I the right to look on and feel
I, who can´t help anyway
Or can I?
I, living a different life, myself
So far from all this
Will anybody be helped by my being here
Will anybody be happier, more joyful
Why am I here
Why did I come, what did I want
Can anyone understand me
And my thoughts?
Why does it look like this
Am I to blame, is it my fault
Does my lifestyle cause others to suffer
All these happy people
are they happy in their poverty
happier than me, happier than us
Would they be made unhappy
if they had doctors and medical care
if the children could go to school
And didn´t have to grow up by the roadside
In the dust, among the cars
If th youngsters didn´t have to push and shove on the streets
Didn´t have to slide between the cars
in the hope of being able to sell, sell something
in the hope of making a little money
No, they would´t be made unhappy
Why cant´t we give them all of this
We, who live in luxury
We, who wouldn´t want to see our own children
in the dust at the roadside
but want to see them
play, live and grow up like children
Not as family breadwinners
Not in the dust at the roadside
Not in the fumes among the cars
Just think - if nobody had to beg
Beg in order to survive
If nobody had to stretch out an empty hand
Towards me, towards us, towards the rich people
Who bring no help, anyway
What did he think about me, the man
whose gaze I didn`t dare to meet
The man who had lost a leg
and and hobbled along on crutches
between the cars, in the exhaust fumes
What did he think about me
when I put a few coins in his
trembling, outstretched hand
Me, sitting safe in the car
Me, who didn´t dare to meet his gaze
What can I do, what do I do
I was born so far from Africa
the Africa, that now feels so close
I didn´t choose my country
But now I can choose
How I choose to continue my life
How I choose to live my life
After all that I have seen
Can I go on living my life as I did before
As if nothing had happened
Can I, do I want to
Who am I?
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