Being African

Politics is not for me and I avoid it like the plague, as we await for the Presidential elections in Mozambique this year I browse with one eye open at the news waiting for the inevitable disappointment to set in with all the politics and corruption and poverty. You would think that a country that is so wealthy in mineral resources would have its people living in better conditions and not on the brink of poverty and the thought of leaving crosses my mind.

But then I watch the sunrise or the lightning and thunder storms in the black sky as the rain prepares to bash us with all its might, I watch as the first drops hit the ground and vapour rises from the scorching hot asphalt, or the little dust clouds that form on the red dirt road as the water drops start to make their mark. I take the time to look around me at the natural beauty of the country, all the green all the people and I realise that I cannot leave.

Being African (or Mozambican in my case) is not about the colour of my skin, or where my great grandparents came from. I was born in Africa and Africa was born in me and without a shadow of a doubt, this is where my heart and mind will always be.

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