LOOKING FOR AN IDENTITY



They call her black, a child of a black nation,
They call her poor, a child of the slums,
They call her little girl, a child of her mother,
But what does she call herself?

She stares into oblivion,
Oblivion where she sees nothing,
Nothing has come out of her life,
Life that she has had to face.

A memory comes to mind,
Mind that has had to ponder a lot,
A lot about her past and the looming future,
Future that is meant to define her.

She was once bright,
Bright to read and write,
Write she did for her life depended on it,
It was after all her education.

She thought it would deliver her from poverty,
Poverty that she had been born into,
Into a life of misery and anguish,
Anguish she faced at the hands of a predator,

It was a chilly morning,
Morning that was beautiful and calm,
Calm that she needed in her life,
Life that had dealt her one blow after another.

Mother said he was the Good Samaritan,
Samaritan who would pay her fees,
Fees that she had to struggle to offset,
Offset he did, but at what price?

She was naïve with no experience at all,
All she could do is swing with happiness,
Happiness that her future was bright again,
Again for the second time in her life.

He came up with an offer,
Offer to move to town with him,
Him and his family would accommodate her,
Her mother detected nothing and agreed.

One year later, she was home,
Home that she had longed for,
For her to let her mother know of her fate,
Fate that had been cruel.

She had stopped going to school,
School that held her dreams,
Dreams that she hoped to fulfill,
Fulfill she could not, all was lost.

Her mother cried when she heard of the rape ordeals,
Ordeals that she had to endure each night,
Nights became difficult and tormenting,
Tormenting for it was the haven for the predator.

She looks at him now,
Now that he is all grown,
Grown to be a handsome boy,
Boy who brings so much joy to his grandmother.

But all this came with a price,
Price that she paid dearly,
Dearly she cried to sleep,
Sleep she could not.

She seeks an identity for they call her names,
Names she has been branded for they know not,
Not the abuse or the torture,
Torture at the hands of a school fees predator.

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