Every time I close my eyes I see a child.
One day I asked myself what am I seeing?
Could this child be the little me?
Am I in a trance dance with my ancestors?
Are my forefathers speaking in riddles?
Or do I have a spoken-word calling?
Is this a god-given talent?
After opening my family album I had an encounter.
I saw a picture of a newborn baby.
The exact image I always see in my dreams.
My mother told me that the child was me.
I was in disbelief because I have never seen that picture before.
I really have an unusual love for my home.
There is really no place like home.
This place has raised me.
My umbilical cord is buried under the soil of my home.
I have learnt how to speak in this mighty place.
I have had my ups and downs in this place.
I have cried and rejoiced in this place.
I have discovered that I am a writer in a place called home.