Deborah Johnson (Nigeria) - WPSC 2023 Africa Qualification

My nationality is arsenic I want to spit out
Before it kills me
But someone is holding my mouth shut, forcing it down with warm milk

Like am I Santa choking on dry cookie truth but this is no western folklore

This reality is the one night mare you can’t pinch yourself awake from.


Shhhhh

Don’t let them hear you.

Hi, I am a Nigerian
Giant of Africa, kings of jollof rice and home to descendants of igbo spirits who picked drowning over slavery
we are a stubborn race
Rich smells richer cultures richest government and poorest people


Um but that’s not all we have

My country is also home to comedians
Underpaid clowns, cleaning off their make up with tears and turning everything we cannot mourn into a joke

Like being kidnapped on your way from school
I and the memories are trauma bonded I carry their scars, they cradle me awake

Or hearing an entire family is lost to unknown gunmen or a school or a church
Or a train full of people with hopes and dreams

May their souls Rest In (Please)

These grounds are unsanctioned blood banks.
No one is coming to collect

The giant of African is gagged and bound on her knees begging mere men for mercy.

Pleading let my people go.
Pharaohs heart is hardened
They sit on thrones
Made of blood and bones
And play God

And in the presence of a god
You have to be silent
Cower left because you have no rights
We are walking on eggshells
You might step on a crack and break your mothers back but our mother has so many fissures
She is rippling apart


To be Nigerian
Is to keep one eye on the news
The other on an escape route, you have to be ready to escape re route your senses don’t ever feel too safe

To be Nigerian

Is to hear a friend died clinging off the body of a ship
Risking their life to be a refugee

Because Just like their ancestors drowning is better than slavery.
Even if slavery wears the colors of home.

To be Nigerian is to apply for visa, not knowing if you stand a chance because your passport is a red flag.
Green is the color of envy afterall, a deadly sin so why should they trust you.

is to wait 3 days at the grave site of justice
Begging God for another resurrection

My emotions are a worn out usain bolt
Running out fast.

There is no more hurt left to offer

This poem is a burial song written by exhaustion

For the citizens who were born victims

People who’s names have gone with the wind. Death toll statistics

For foolish passionate youth like me

Who still want to save their country

Who act like Icarus, feeling the scorching heat of the sun and still reaching

I am hopeful
So so desperately hopeful
But i don’t want to burn and fall into the sea while the sun ( my country ) folds it’s hands watching me.
Just another name gone with the wind.