You loot my shop
You loot my livelihood
You cart away my pride
You loot all that is mine
In the night, xenophobia came through the door
By morning you carted away all that is mine
And here I am;
A scarecrow in a deserted cornfield,
Torn and ravaged by merciless winds
Now, I’m a perch for scornful crows and ravens
For you have looted all that is mine
When did my existence ring an abhorrent chime?
What is my crime?
Does a ‘foreigner’s’ existence spell an abomination?
Is not variety a condiment for a beautiful garden?
Has your tolerance of me become such a burden?
What then is remaining of me,
Now you have looted all that is mine?
I once suckled noble sons
And planted them upon the soils of my shores;
They lived for the pride of me
They existed for the unity of the generation
But they suffered scorn and jests
Like Nnamdi Kanu, they were the jailers’ guests,
Because they dared rise against all them,
Who loot all that is mine
Sons and daughters of Africa,
Yours is a blessed land,
Vast from shore to shore.
Embrace your kit and kin
Stand together as one
Bask in the beauty of your variety,
And then you will no longer stand besieged,
By them who desire,
To loot all that is mine.
This is my protest against the looting of shops in Pretoria, South Africa.