a race of homeless people

There are two types of people in the world: there are those who have home, who have built home upon the piece of land they call their place of origin; and those who don’t, who are yet to build it. Home is not just a physical space, but the spiritual connection, deep sense of belonging we find with the space, the geography, while we walk on it, before we return to it as dust, the meaningful shared history, culture, development we build in that connection. Finding the connection with our place of origin, our motherland, is the basic existential homework of every people on the face of the earth.

We do not have home. Africa is not home—not yet. We, its inhabitants over millennia of our existence, have yet to build home out of the homeland. It is difficult to build home out of Africa, we bemoan. Mother Africa is a breeding ground for adversity, the heart of darkness.

We have leaders who are conscripts of the devil, who are bent upon recreating hellish reality, such as division, destitution, fear, and war. We have been reduced to subhuman existence.

We say that we and our talents would all go to waste; and that we would rather be where we would be more useful, where our talents are appreciated and valued than die unacknowledged death in senseless wars. We have thus gone on exodus, fled our motherland, on a mirage

chase for safety, comfort, and future elsewhere, to build home away from home.

That is no reason to flee home. There is nothing good after home. Home is honour. Home is dignity. Home is identity. We should not fly off to wherever there is safety, comfort, but stay put, stand our ground, die there if we have to. One gives up one’s home only upon death. Better to die for something, what is more something as essential as home, than to live for nothing. What is existence that we should value it so much if it is a homeless, pitiful existence.

Cowards die million times before they die. We ought to endeavour to grow safety, true comfort under our feet. The places we yearn to dwell in, for which we cross arduous, perilous journey across desserts, rivers, mountains, are but built by generation after generation of natives who forsook their personal pleasures and comforts, faced their demons,

devoted their lives for the cause of building home for the generations after them.

We have shunned that basic task, that duty of honour, dignity, that fundamental existential

homework of building home in our homeland. We are a race of people who have not done our homework. Generation after generation, we have tiptoed around this mountainous basic existential homework, of building ourselves home. We have taken the cowardly recourse to this question, chose the prim rose path, sought to live in homes others built.

We are people lost. We live in abandon of our land, culture, the traditional ways of our ancestors. We are a race of homeless people, no different from the shelterless persons who swarm our streets. Ours is homeless existence. We live timid existence, treading the earth softly, lest we disturb the children of the kingdom with our illegitimate, alien existence, in constant fear of deportation. Often, we do the jobs that the children of the kingdom shun. Do not mistake the tolerance they suffer to give us in the spirit of political correctness for acceptance.

These hosts open their doors to us in their selfish interest, for it benefits them that we flee our home, we remain homeless, that we do not build home out of the resource rich continent. Because the increasingly reckless life of luxury that they adopt is much more than their land

could sustain, they lust after the resources of our motherland they can exploit unobstructed.

Do not deceive yourselves by the false citizenship you are given after several years of living with them either; in truth, we mix with them as oil in water. Because we are homeless. We, our cowardice, guilt are as conspicuous as the colour of our skin, a housefly writhing for life inside a cup of milk.

It is one thing to escape to safety, and another to build one’s home on one’s place of refuge, on the shelter of mercy we are lent, let the root of the pleasure of your flesh grow deeper into that space, and our flesh spread across it like bindweed that grows on refuses.

Home is not wherever we may find comfort, as we like to believe, a shelter we come back to to rest after a good day’s work. We cannot find true comfort, peace in any place other than our homeland without selling our soul, without letting our soul die slowly, day by day, whence we grow

thick skin and become numb to the disrespect, hatred, pity, resentment that the host people pelt us with every day. We are as welcome as a housefly wherever else we choose to dwell. We invariably earn the disrespect, contempt, hatred, pity, of the society we live amidst. Because we are a race of people who have not done their homework. Because we buy bread with honour, comfort with dignity. We are the epitome of cowardice, walking cowardice in

suits that we look unnatural in. We have no right to demand the respect we have not earned; no meaning bemoaning racism and xenophobia.

We are not here on earth on vacation. The purpose of human existence is not to find comfort, to scrap after alien people who hold us in contempt for our sustenance, to employ our talent where it is surplus to requirement when our motherland craves it, but to live a true life, a life

of purpose, purpose that is bigger than us, bigger than our basic, selfish needs, to wed our talent to that purpose. The dishonour is not so much about living abroad as it is living abroad with a sense of

homelessness. If one has home, there is nowhere else one would rather be, that the only reason one leaves the native land is because his services are required there more; and that the

other country becomes just his workspace than home, just like we have office apart from home; that person never outstays his welcome; he is happy to leave as soon as his services are not required anymore. When we have a home that we are proud of, we earn the respect of

whoever we choose to live among. They shall desire to live in our homes as we in theirs.

The larger populace who still dwell in the continent are no less homeless than those who immigrate. Home is not home if we are resigned to a life of misery, subhuman existenceinside it, fold our arms in acceptance of this lot; if all we do, after a bare minimum work, is seek escape in cultural products of the Western world, such as sports, music, movies. These people have also neglected the building of home just as much. They are as absent mentally as the immigrants are physically.

Let us bring our pitiful homeless existence to an end. Let us not go down in history as another anonymous generation who have sidestepped their existential duty for their selfish comfort.

Let us build ourselves home already! That project begins when we return home, from our exodus, in all our multitudes, from the four corners of the world; when we wean ourselves off the pernicious life of ease and comfort and take up the beleaguered life of purpose than the cowardly, timid life of comfort. Choose death over cowardly existence instead. What use is it to come back in our caskets in the end, as dead bodies? Will our motherland collect us to its

loving embrace when we return to dust?

Home is the only place to build home. Home is not built with remittances, the crumbs that fall off the tables of the children of kingdom that we collect and peeping from our positions of safety, comfort afar but with our full presence. Once in, we excuse ourselves from the world, we close off all our doors, windows, and cracks to the outside world, put our heads down to our function. There is nothing more pathetic, despicable than to let outsiders come in to build us home. Neither is home built by following the step-by-step instructions these outsiders prescribe for us. All these outside interventions have succeeded in doing is exacerbate our discord and strife. Home is built not from without, but from within. The most ‘desirable’ of homes, such as America, were built during years

whence these people closed themselves from the world and given all their full attention and effort to the task.

Let us congregate around campfires at night like our ancestors, face our demons, resolve our differences. We should first swallow the bitter truth that whatever was, whatever has been, and whatever will be in our sphere of existence is our own doing. We have brought everything upon ourselves. We are solely responsible for where we are, and whatever we

have ever been through and not colonization. We teach the world how to treat us, in ways that are subconscious and unconscious to us. Understand that all the forces that are keeping us fettered in our subhuman existence are within us, in our mind. Whatever we have been and

are going through are manifestations, projections of that which is in our mind. Mind is the real battlefield, where the decisive battles are fought and won and lost.

We are creators, made in the image of God. Our Godly power of creation lies in our attention, in where we place that attention predominantly. No force in the universe has power over us unless we allow them to, through our attention. It is in that power of creation that we have brought upon ourselves the reality that we wish to escape from. In that same power will we roll over that reality and in its place weave that blissful one who wish to dwell in. We create

favourable reality when we put resolute attention upon that reality. The world, let alone narrow-minded leaders of one’s nation, is afraid of a single person, what the person is

capable of becoming, and in that being, what he is capable of doing and undoing, if that person gains control over self or flesh.

This truth is liberating as it is empowering; it will heal us, wash off whatever resentment, grudge, embitterment, enmity we may hold against the other people, which might otherwise hold us back from building ourselves home. Let us build our home on the strongest foundation, on the culture of love; let love be its

cornerstone, so no life’s tempest demolishes it. Let us educate our hearts to the universal truth, the truth that one cannot do harm unto others without harming oneself worse. Let us build an identity that appreciates that there is no ‘I’ without ‘you’. Let us come to a unity, an organic unity under the cause; let us be the different body parts of the same body. Let us gear all our myriad talents, such as leadership, music, literature, engineering, doctoring, etc. towards

establishing that home.

It will not be a smooth ride. We may not see the slightest change in our lifetime. Several generations might well pass before we form inches of the foundation. It won’t be a pretty

existence. We may not eat food for days. We may be emaciated. Our life expectancy may come down to forty-three. There will be a lot of strife among each other, a lot of undoing of what we will have done. But we will surely persevere. A person does not live only on bread— we shall eat the soil of our good earth; let our duty of honour be our bread. We shall hunt down and kill the lice of our deep divisions, our demons, one by one.

Let us build our home from the scratch, dismantle the whole existent system. Let us not take after the path of the world, follow its footsteps, emulate its development. A development where ninety-nine percent of its resources are in the hands of one percent of the population; that turns human beings into automatons; that is in par with the environment; that is an existential threat to life on earth is not one to emulate.

Let us build home, development that is truly ours, a black home, a black development, built on the wisdoms of our ancestors, in harmony with the environment we are an intrinsic part of (whence we use clouds for our transportation). Let us do away with the economic system, return to barter system if we have to.When our existential project is done, we shall open the doors of the home we will have built with love, and we are proud of to the world. We shall inherit our grandchildren and great grandchildren not shame, but honour. They shall visit wherever they please with their heads held up high and offer quiet prayers of gratitude to us.

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