Once a boy from Africa saw

A white boy from America

He asked “hey boy why are you coy?”

The white boy said “I’m from America”


He couldn’t play because of heat

And felt so bad because of food

He ate leaves and rice alone

The African thought he had many a mood



The white boy told him many things

In America there are many things

The snow which sacks mosquitoes

And the weather which is very cold



The black boy wept and pleaded

Please take me to America

I want a place as cool as the sea

And that place is not Africa



The black boy went to America

And shivered so much he could not sit

He slept so much he could not play

He hated the weather which his mouth bit



“What have I done? This is no place for a child?

I cannot eat and I cannot play”

He was told of winter and summer’s days

He waited many days he could not stay



He started to cry to go back to his root

The Africa he knew gave children freedom

It is not perfect but the sun hardly frowns

There’s laughter and play and hunting and life and no snow to whip



When he reached his Africa,

He swore to never go to America

He loved his root and learnt a lesson

There’ll be no place like home.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


3 thoughts on “NO PLACE LIKE HOME

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