White Child in Africa

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Call Me Ishmael.”

I think I first realized something was wrong when our nextdoor neighbour, oom Piet Oberholzer, was murdered
I was about six years old then, and I never will forget when I realized
The perils of being a child of Africa would soon out-way the joys
Of being alive under the African sky
I knew in my heart that a choice would need to be made
One day of choosing to stay or to go
As fate would have it, when the day came to choose
I packed my bags, and with sadness in my heart
I left

First line extracted from the first line of Peter Godwin’s Mukiwa – A White Boy in Africa

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