From an email doing the rounds:
If the words are a little too blurry for you, here’s a transcript:
The real Africa is the one they never show you.
The real Africa is hidden beneath veneer of poverty and hunger and death,a cancerous mass on the face of the earth that the rest of the world term homogenous “Africa”
The real Africa is submerged underneath corruption and greed,underneath tyranny and an ostentatious elite,underneath the faces of the people they cannot feed.
The real Africa is buried beneath shanty towns rife with dirt and disease,where children are forced to grow up much too quickly to survive.
The real Africa is concealed under a noman’s land of desert bare and dry and unable to sustain a green and healthy life.
No that’s not the real Africa. The Africa I know. The Africa that is reflected in the warm sunshine that you can feel burning inside you.
The Africa that shines from warm spontaneous smile. The Africa that is at the heart of sky high mountains and tropical jungle of golden sand dunes and lush green grassland.
The Africa that is at the heart of different peoples, different languages,different cultures,different identities who all call this land their land.
The land where moyo,muti,unomera pauno;where roots take hold and don’t let go go,solid as the baobab tree that has always been and will always be there standing steady and solid against the menaces of time.
My Africa is where my heart resides even when I am long gone and far away,where my mind drifts to across the distance of a never ending ocean.
The real Africa can be smelt the minute you step off the plane onto African soil and feel the air calling you,beckoning you home.
The real Africa is the chaos and calm that exist side by side as hinking cars zoom past on streets that run parallel to cows grazing peacefully in a field.
This is the real Africa,the one they never show.
This is the place I call home.