Congo vs. Congo: ‘let a serpent live, but kill the Zairean’ is a tradition long practiced in Congo Brazzaville

Recent events between the two Congos – RC and DRC – have prompted controversial reactions. To many, Brazzaville’s expulsion of ex-Zaireans is a deliberate attempt to insult a country whose resources they rely upon heavily. It should be highlighted from the start that there’s an estimate of over 80,000 expelled since the beginning of April 2014. The purpose, it seems at first, was to clear irregular immigrants from DRC; for ‘security’ matters. However, the reason why it has escalated to the serious violation of Human Rights and the torturous methods undertaken to send these people back to their country is what the DRC government is yet to explain to its citizens.

It is not in vain we raise our voices to deplore such cruelty. Humanity has to read Martin Niemoller’s poem whose first lines read ‘First they came for the/ Socialists, and I did not speak out/ because I was not a Socialist…’ to understand that only when death strikes your own home do you realise how much others endured when going  through grief. We cannot expect the West and its media to propagate the enormity of the calamities imposed on our people. We cannot condemn them either; the principle being that everybody should be responsible only for their own. It is a sign of cowardice and eternal dependency; to always rely on BBC, CNN, RFI and the likes. At least we have the so-called freedom of press now, and the whole media platform to say that it is utterly wrong what Brazzaville did and is still doing. The focus, however, is not so much on Brazzaville. If anything, we should blame our government, the DRC government, for the constant sign of immaturity in political affairs and the lack of will to intervene in such life-threatening abuses against its people.

When the first rumours fell upon our ears that Brazzaville embarked on a conflicting approach against Zaireans, we could but believe it was only a small wave that would soon be over. Yes, we were very naïve to underestimate what they were truly capable of. But why were we so naïve? The reasons reside in these facts. First of all, the difference in population between RC and DRC is nearly 75 million with DRC having approximately 77,433,744 million inhabitants compared to 4, 75 million in RC. Of course a country’s strength doesn’t rely on its size, but it is a factor that cannot be ignored. Secondly, Brazzaville’s SNE depends on Inga from DRC to receive electricity. And thirdly, most of its goods come from DRC; with Ngobila playing an important role for its survival. Given these elements only, one was persuaded that a simple move from our government would suppress whatever Nguesso and his government are doing. We did not ask for much, this problem didn’t require loud trumpets and war declarations whatsoever. A simple act only would have shown Brazzaville that they have no right to put our people alive in mortuaries, and to expel families under such brutalities. In fact, hadn’t it been for the colonialists and the scramble for Africa, RC would be included in DRC to date. In RC we find the Ngala,Teke, Kongo… all of which came from DRC – we should be realistic that Zaireans have just as much the right to live there as their natives. But since they have managed to create their own history claiming to have De Brazza for founder and separating themselves from DRC, we have gradually accepted them as an independent country – this nevertheless gives them no right to mock us so openly.

Despite our cries, it is very shocking the reaction of the DRC government. Well, not so surprising because one cannot be surprised anymore given all this government’s previous doings. While the population very much expects an efficient response and solution from Kabila and his people, the country’s spokesman, Lambert Mende comes on stage to play the saint and blur reality. According to him, near 95% of all Zaireans are still untouched and live peacefully in Brazzaville so it would be wrong for the government to react against the ‘few’ cases and endanger the lives of those who are still on the other side of the river Congo. A reasonable argument, it seems. But only those who do not know the malignance of this government will swallow such humiliating statements. What we need right now is not the usual Zairean attitude of a warm and tender-hearted saint who always says the most High will recompense those who inflict pain upon them. We do not want to be retold over and over that Brazzaville and us are ‘brothers’. Even if they were our ‘brothers’, they deserve a very clear correction for not respecting their elders. After all, they need to learn how to not bite the hand that feeds them.

How to punish them is a question to which an answer is not so clearly defined. The government should be the essence to back the population’s demand for a punishment. But of course our government isn’t called ‘Momemi maki’ in vain. As long as we rely on them for change, our people will continue to die and suffer and that not only in Brazzaville but in the whole world. There is no respect whatsoever for the Congolese people, because nobody can respect you if you do not start by respecting yourself.

From That Time

On 6th of April

The Court reassembled

to pronounce a final verdict

Against a malicious criminal.

Why had the Judge delayed

to pronounce the Sentence

An angered Jury did not comprehend 

Before the courtroom, best lawyers 

reassured they had no evidence against her;

Smiling she stood, laughing at her own misery

And believing nobody could ever find out - her multiple crimes

No, she did not know

Today was the day, for all secrets to be unveiled 

The Supreme Judge

Standing before His throne

Sent a penetrating look, towards her.

His eyes, reddened with anger,

His heart, full of compassion.

Instead of a Sentence for Life verdict 

He read out a love letter,

A declaration that all charges against her, were erased,

All evidence, burnt

And all witnesses, eliminated 

When His voice spoke out, loud and severe

yet transmitting kindness and pardon 

From His heart, to her heart 

Tears ran down her face

She prayed, and cried, and pleaded guilty - unable to respond to such Love

What an Amazing Grace, when He said:

Go, and commit no further crime!

From that time,

Humanity as a whole cannot explain 

The Oil she spreads around her 

From that time, her once loaded heart now smiles in every circumstance 

April 6th, a unique and memorable day - an emblem of Pardon and Love.

Now everyday is filled with His loving eyes

Everywhere she can now, hear His loving Words

They replay in her soul, over and over:

'Go, and commit no further crime'.

The alphabet does not contain enough letters 

To constitute a meaningful explanation 

But from that time, her story has changed;

It is a new song: From That Time, the Judge became my Husband!

This Child in This Land

Dynamic awakening 

of a revived being they possessed;

waters running down that river

A heavy shower from the heavens 

created a musical atmosphere around   -

Green was the land 

that inhabited a barefooted child 

This place had one law - seclusion was the norm 

Its fertility thanked anonymity 

This child laying down on its hand 

Breathed the freshness of its air 

Wide land, land of transparency,

Where only his own voice echoed and echoed 

until back to him it came -

A sign that his ambition was to fulfil

the promise held in his heart 

Friends came over 

Their names were distinct -

Star, Bird, Smile, Light

Around him they assembled, 

In the cool of the evening - a little communion 

One worked with him directly; bird sang sweet hymns

The others more abstract - or so

Communicated subtly from within 

All four contributed 

daily to make his world,

This land of separation -

A haven of rest 

Forever green it remained, this land 

Here, there was no 'season'

No difference between day and night 

The plants didn't depend on the 'weather'

This child did not rely on, conformism.

Loneliness was inconceivable 

Fear was a nonexistent ideology 

Deception was an inanimate conception;

From here, negativity was banned 

Physics had no effect on this child 

He was able to walk in space 

for he had defied gravity 

The friends that spoke from within him 

prescribed the size and shape 

of his picture.

In this land he had both, 

Assurance and Insurance -

a confirmation that only his voice 

remained untouched 

This child resided in this land 

Where seclusion was the norm.

NOTRE MONDE

Un nuage épais appelé firmament couvre l'univers ;
Il marque la démarcation entre les galaxies et terre.
Teinté de bleue et de blanc, Il est d'un calme inédit;
Il fait croire que tout ce qu'il couve,

bénéficie de son ombre paisible
Et pourtant…

De même que des milliers de kilomètres ;
marquent la distance entre ciel et terre,
L'image de ce nuage tranquille
Ne représente pas la réalité
de notre monde.

Monde de morts et de haines;
Depuis ses origines,
L'inimitié est enraciné en son sein.
Monde de déception ; 
Dont l'Histoire est un récit de sang ;
Sa terre est rassasiée du sang des innocents. 

Une tragédie apparaît après une autre dans ses journaux
à chaque seconde;
Endroit où la sécurité est du diamant , 
Où le voleur visite même le plus pauvre, 
Où la femme enceinte est emprisonnée
Où le plus honnête est rendu muet
Et où la réalité ne reflète jamais l'image du calme qui règne au dessus de sa tête

BURNING BODIES

From high above the skies, lies 
A dimension unseen to the human vision, 
An atmosphere so near but yet, so distant,

Fixating my eyes on the everlasting flames of the burning bodies of men women and children, I see that
In agony, they languish with mournful moans, 
Bonded, they implore mercy, 
Rain, they cry for but not even 
its single droplet is falling on deaf ears, 

Now, coming from the right ,
The judgement court, seating 
Saints all adorned in majestic white, 
Today, visual Recorded evidence of the burning bodies' lives
Taken by the flying saucers ,
Will be played before our very eyes, 
All that was ever buried, had now resurrected, no more secrets was left unveiled. 

Before this day came , the burning bodies
were nonchalantly walking streets, 
possessing great worldly riches and partaking in the folly of sin, 
the so called joie de vivre life to the fullest,

Now cast into this new realm, the previous nightmare state scenery, 
recalled by the burning bodies could almost be envied, 

Asked to take the reserved seat next to Him, I began making my way,
With no more room for repentance , one by one each burning bodies came to the stand.

Then coming before me at her turn, was my boss, 
how the tables had 
turned
On earth it was her making decisions, here it was I to  whom she depended on for her dear life,
But It was simply too 
late, 
She had 99 years to make things right

Burning bodies eternally screaming 
For a millennium in this consuming 
Fire that never ends 
Burning bodies without the relief of calcination.

FOR GRANTED

The sun has shone above me, today
It did the same, yesterday
It will do the same, tomorrow
Because according to the book, it should be so

I have taken this pathway, all my life
There is no harm in it
There will always be flour for my bread
The oceans will never dry out - will have water, always

I will stand and complain - pay me for my own education
I know where to go when I am ill - GP
I will get on the bus - to get off at the next stop
There are Housing Associations - Homelessness is a myth

To the one whose life is spoiled
The sky is always blue and the morning always comes
They wake up today, they wake up tomorrow
It is simply normal - nothing inspiring

A child is born - a person has died
Winter has come, the leaves have dried
There's been an earthquake - natural disaster
All in life is explained - natural phenomenon

For granted you take every day
You take everything for granted
Not knowing that someone somewhere
Wishes they were never born
Not seeing that those who have died
Were not less worthy of life than you
They perhaps had more to live for than you
Not recognising that every time you wake up,
Every time you get back home safely
Every time you eat
And every time you smile
Is a miracle

SEALED

Above loud musical speeches of men
Your voice was suspended
Waiting to pierce through noises
and make itself distinct
It was so firm yet so sweet
Destined to the only one you chose

We were a multitude, in this room
When you pronounced your word, to many
it was a deliberate thunder of confusion and condemnation
But to the one you elected
it was a heavenly melody of a promise
That your love would come back -
It was you sweetly whispering into my ear:
'Will you marry me?'

My hair is black, my heart is small
Around the globe, there are many more prettier
More happier, more intelligent - than I
They are eloquent - enough rhetoric to capture
Your attention
I lean onto you
They are self- defendant, self-sufficient, less of a burden
Among them, I appear a stranger

But you destined me to hear
Your voice - and accept your demand
You stretched your patience, waited until
My last fear was gone
You stayed right near
even when I pushed you away
You transferred the love from your heart into my heart
Until only for you, I live

The silent distance between us
brings closer your presence
It is when you are untalkative
That I realise you are there
It is when you are indifferent
That I am reminded, I have to love you more
It is when you are severe
That you strengthen the bond, between us

WITHIN

Beneath hidden riches undiscovered,
The glorious myth chooses a shelter
Abstract and inexpressive
A source of smile in obscure time
It is the driving force behind
The firm assurance
That before the dawn, darkness is deep

An unspeakable truth is buried
Beneath hidden riches - undiscovered
The flames of this burning fire
So dynamic and permanent
Row along across the ocean
Facing winds and waves
Of challenge, discourage, and unbelief
From up North

Two-third of all its propositions
From below, from the heart
Have been subjected to scrutiny
Since the truth is ineffable
It is in eternal conflict with a society
That seeks to reason with a fool
Not able to explain its projects of prosperity
It is qualified as bad plan;
An automatic rejection from all institutions -
Institutions that prefer superficially rehearsed loud performances

It made a spectacle -
A subject of critics and murmurs
When it fell from the heights
Making the earth tremble at the sound of such noise
Gathered communities assembled to witness
Its dreadful end

But it rose up high again
Carried on the journey
Fought until though blinded
Conquered every inch.
Resilience resides in she
That is looked upon with amazement
Every time she comes out of a test
With a bright smile

RESPONSIBILITY

Piercing alarms of siren
Announced the emergency of ambulances
jumping at astonishing speed
Squeezing through humans, cars, bicycles
In these busy streets of Central London
They were followed by tens of police vans
Flashing red and blue and orange lights
On that freezing night of Saturday
Heading towards Croydon - East

In their own words,
A parent had heard them prophesy
'Tonight we will get wasted'
Teenage sixformers - all race
 Had headed towards, The Pub
With fake ID cards
A place where girls, in high heels
Clip clop to the bartender
For one more shot until
They are lost enough to bring back home
At 4am - a complete serial killer stranger

At the crime scene, drunken boy
Stabbed seven times breathed out
His last words 'away from there'
With painful precision
Echoing the very last words
He had heard from his helpless mother
Accused of abuse for daring
To advise him against that birthday party

Rushing through the snow
Nurses hopelessly gathered
His intestines
Before they discovered lying next to him
One more - shot dead
So frantic a scene -
With tight dresses at thigh length girls were
Scattered - as policemen in tears
handcuffed victims and perpetrators

For many, that night had
marked the beginning of a wasted life
Sentenced for life - some
Criminal records - others
Society in return labelled them as
nuisance, deviant, unwanted criminals

Advice from parents and adults
They had refuted
Wanting autonomy way too soon
In a complicated world where only
Those who had been there have
accurate accounts of roads to avoid

For some, that night had stamped
The end of a youth so full of opportunities
Two weeks before final exams they had
the right to be given
The respect due to an eighteen year-old in Britain
Not knowing that it was their right to enjoy life
But the impacts of their past on their own future
Was their responsibility.

CURRICULUM

The moment you sit
in a classroom and
look at a rain-tainted
window - grey sky

A smell of boredom fills
the air in this sphere
as you are day-dreamily seated
wondering whether phonology
syntax, lexis
forms any of your daily grammar
Their place is found in essays, written and forgotten

The curriculum has produced
A generation of heads high with pride
You would think they master the map
of the whole world
Only ask them where is the North
To hear they forgot their notes

The rashness of a ninety minutes lesson
where you are bombarded with facts
to remember in nine months
No time for notes, teacher has an agenda

The curriculum is not user-friendly
It is irrespective of individual aptitude
Blocking your way to the skies
Brainwashing you in the snow
Caging your soaring wings

MR EXAMINER

I have a very clever mind,

I’m one of the human kind.

Before I sleep, every night,

Books and brochures are on my side.

Efforts are made,

Problems are solved.

And my hard working brain

Is tired of this pain

Pain, cruel pain!

Caused by ungratefulness and disdain.

Why is it that I have to structure my thoughts

According to what they want?

Knowledge acquired through days and years of learning

Is reduced to a nothing hour of examination.

Useless, selfish hour!

That requires you to show: proper behaviour.

I have plenty to say about a book

My skills as a linguist can identify features at one look

Why do you ask me to talk about one specific character?

When the true themes are left to be explored, only by the writer?

You, Mr Examiner

To whom even I could teach the sacrifices of a learner

Why don’t you let my teacher

Tell you how much potential I have?

Circumstances change my way of thinking

If I woke up happily in the early morning,

I would have identified features that portray even Stanley as a wonderful character.

Don’t give me a B

Because I’m not worth it

Why are all our sufferings and hard works

Transformed into meaningless As and Bs?

Stupid march schemes!

Whenever my teacher marks my work,

He always comments: way beyond description in the mark scheme

But when the same work

Done by the same person,

Reaches you, Mr Examiner,

It gets such unexpected and deceiving grade.

‘They are paid by number of paper they mark’ my teacher told me once.

Who will stand for us?

One, you give us so little time to show you all we know

And two, you structure your questions in a way

That makes it so hard, so hard

To explore our deepest knowledge.

Stop cutting trees in forests

Stop exploiting humans’ rights

Stop polluting the air with the thousands of chemicals

You use to produce papers and inks.

You should save a tree, by stopping to send me

Meaningless letters containing weird mark schemes.

I won’t talk about Sociology,

Or History

Because I simply think it stupid

To pretend giving someone the freedom of speech

And come back to arrest them if they say something that tends to shock the bourgeoisie

I honestly think it inhuman

To ask me to describe my favourite moment

And then give me a D because I’ve talked about a holiday

When you expected me to talk about a wedding.

Mr Examiner, I wish we could meet.

I wish you could get the chance to see me

Even for only one minute.

You would have seen in me, what my teachers see

It would have changed the whole thing.

THIS PEACEFUL ROCK

A great change has taken place

Tomorrow is safe.

Outside, the brown river flows in such a rhythm

That makes a perfect melody with songs of birds

The clappings and dancings of the reaching mango tree

Seem to be a relieving blessing

Illuminating stars

Send the promise of a new day

Through dark blue skies

To lighten the shadowy shelter

Where a solitary boy

Lays on the run, heading for a border.

He had thought

That unity made strength.

Hunger and thirst,

Police and bandits,

And all the obstacles

Had once convinced him

That two legs were better than one.

But, now, the shattered orphan

Transported in deep meditation

Feels no more emotion, no more fear.

Sufferings, pains, troubles beyond his age

Have given him a new heart.

Hidden under This Protective Rock,

He is now certain

That it is best

To have an empty house

With peace

Than a mansion

Full of meat

But filled with sorrow.

He now knows

That he is better off alone.

The rock is hard

But does it matter?

It does not kick or punch

Like the heartless human beings

Hunger and loneliness are painful

But they do not hurt

Like the deceptions of a friend

The night is cold

But not as sad

As the discriminated world

Of an abandoned child.

Figuring a better future,

His soul has travelled

To worlds unknown.

The cool, welcoming breath

Of This Peaceful Rock

Communicates with his inner being

Telling him

That a deep, sincere peace within

Can be shaken, by nothing.

In a cave of self-sufficiency

The orphan falls asleep

And dreams of wonders

That will bless

The rest

Of his days​

ARMOUR BRIDE

To war he went
On my knee I bent
Praying he would win
That He would intervene
His presence in my heart, though absent
Is as concrete as the house I rent

Heavy footsteps of his promises - certain
I hold as dear commandment
Beckoning through the night, sweet angels
To me give peace in trials
Sealed, he has my soul
Now and forevermore

Wishing night and day, I did
Ask wholeheartedly that I be
At his side, his bride - to love
His every word
Yet when me he chose
With hands wide to share his throne
I felt unworthy and small

To him, mighty warrior
Elected by my Saviour
All run and ask
That he gives them a break
To be his companions - to ruin
They desire him to mourn

He went to the battlefield
When I was in need
Should he have been here
I wouldn't have any fear
I kept hoping that he will know
But when he asked, I felt small.

BRING BACK OUR GIRLS

An imperative slogan
To the rulers of humanity - is sent
In the face of a cruel barbaric
Methodology of immature politics
Surprising that a world who conceived
The very word 'civilisation'
Is no more human than tigers in a jungle
Chameleonic reactions
From Goodluck - and his allies
Contrasts the urgency of this matter

In their own home
Deprived of safety, they have become
April 14th 2014 has seen in Nigeria
Hundreds of families in agonising misery
A pain greater than to have
One's arm chopped off
Since blind to their lamentations, authorities are
May 5th 2014 has raptured eight
More girls away from already unprotected nets

To foreign powers, to int'L
Cries the government
Although a fast growing economy,
They declare the situation to be - beyond their capacity
To Africa, to Nigeria, Kerry will be sent
His interest purely political
Has no sympathy for the grieving families
America only the allocated role
Of the world's policeman will play
Having the right to deprive you - as they please

Around a round table, oh Africa
Foreign powers laugh at your instabilities
While to them you cry,
When from them you expect deliverance
Some of them rejoice, over your pain
For Thierry Mariani - what to you has happened
Is for the Occident a chance
To be cleansed from sin
A sin that continues to generate underlying conflicts

To subject your girls to slavery
claims Boko Haram
A barbaric inhuman bunch of Satans
Why wait for the West?
March you not smileless to save your girls -
the product of your labour and apple of your eye?
Vulnerable members of our society, they are
Raise you not with all Will
to defeat the barriers that keep
Away from you the future mothers of your nation?

Goodluck is to you - badluck
As long as indifferent to your case, he remains
South Korean ferry disaster, on the news
Malaysian airline, on the news
Humans too are our girls
Together as one we stand
Mobilised, we are
And we shout meanwhile acting: BRING BACK OUR GILRS!

PSALM - ENGLISH

When no bird flies and no light shines
Above my soul in prayer
Father, are you there? Do you hear?
A line break narrows the pathway
Between the river and the shore
While the enemy reminds me
I am an outcast

A daisy, I met the sunshine
I flourished, I bore fruits
Those who have wisdom saw
In me a light, a star
To many I was an example
Until the bee drunk away my honey
Until the sun shone too strong
And burned my skin.

My core is wet, even though there
No drop is existent
Father, the bee did not come back
When he took all my honey
Let the star come back, or I am lost.

PSALM - French

Quand nul oiseau ne vole et nul lampe ne brille
Au dessus de mon âme en prière
Père, es-tu là? Entends-tu?
Une chute reserre la voix
Entre la rivière et Le port
Pendant que l'ennemi me rapelle que
Je suis un voué à l'interdit.

Une fleur (daisy), j'ai rencontré Le soleil
J'ai fleuri, j'ai porté des fruits
Ceux qui ont de la sagesse ont vu
En moi une lumière, une étoile
Pour beaucoup j'étais un exemple
Jusqu'a ce que l'abeille avalla tout mon miel
Jusqu'a ce que Le soleil brilla trop fort
Qu'Il brula ma peau.

Mon centre (mon âme) est mouillé, même si là
Aucune goute n'existe
Père, l'abeille n'est plus jamais revenu
Après avoir consumé mon miel
Laisse l'étoile revenir, Sinon je serai perdu.

HOPE - French version

Les étoiles de Minuit dans les cieux
Mon seul espoir
La hauteur des montagnes
Ombre d'une présence
La profondeur des rivières
Abris de repos
Printemps; un vent dans la forêt
Hiver enfin Fini.

J'ai vu une semance, une plante, une fleur
Après fort vents et pluies,
Le Soleil Le chauffa violement
J'ai vu un arbre, un fruit, des fruits
Avant qu'Il ne devienne un ombrage
J'ai vu des vagues,du vent, la guerre.
J'ai vu tempête et éclair
J'ai entendu des tonneres
Mais j'ai vu un arbre, un arbre fruitier.

Un enfant avec un rêve
Traversant une mer obscure
Qu'ils secouent,
Les étoiles de Minuit dans les cieux
Sont mon seul espoir.

ENCORE UNE ANNÉE

Encore une année,
Et tu n’as jamais changé
La tempête et l’orage
N’ont pas pu t’emporter
Et comme dans un songe,
Ton ennemi te voit prospérer

Un éclair et un tonnerre,
Ils secouent l’arbre,
Mais jamais pour sa perte
Au contraire,
Ses racines persévèrent
Et s’enfonce encore plus dans la terre
Rumeurs et nouvelles
Remplis de haine et d’ignominie,
Coururent dans la ville
Nuages couvrirent le ciel,
Mais juste pour établir,
Un fondement éternel

Ce fondement éternel,
Nommé l’amour divin
Te guide sur le Chemin
T’apprends à être attentif
Pour gagner la bataille

SACRIFICE

Together they travelled
Many miles holding hands
When his enemies attacked
From before the rock barricaded
When they came from behind
The rock blocked their arrows
The rock was surrounding him
On both sides without ever letting go of his hand
     The rock was tender;
A colourful singing bird at dawn
And again in the late evenings
To him the rock provided
A shelter, a stream of smile
    But he often looked up, and doubted
Refused to trust this source,
He thought when he would need to run
Away from his enemies the rock would block
The rock's height, the rocks wide size

They travelled many miles
The rock provided food
But he often heard enemies coming
He looked up and whispered:
Rock so hard, you are a stumbling block

The rock swallowed all the arrows
Of the enemy the rock accepted pain
All around it you could spot wounds
Bleeding incessant wounds
He heard the enemy's murmurs
He doubted the rock

Together they travelled
After many miles
The enemy was stronger
The rock opened its door
Let him enter it's wounds
It was a single slow childbirth
So hurting the rock bled

The enemy was coming
He was inside the rock's wounds
He looked around and whispered:
Rock it has been many miles
They were traveling together holding hearts

HOPE

Midnight stars in the skies

My only essence

Mountain’s heights

Shadows of a presence

Stream’s depths

Shelters of rest

Springtime: winter gone at last.

I saw a seed, a plant, a flower

After hard winds and rains,

The Sun fuelled it vivaciously

I saw a tree, a fruit, fruits

Before it became a leafy fruitful shelter

I saw waves, and winds, and wars –

I saw storms and lightnings

I heard thunders

But I saw a tree, a fruitful tree.

A child with a dream

Crossing an obscure ocean –

Though they blast

Midnight stars in the skies

Are my only essence.

Lesson

He was in chains all night

But not in pain all time

Every movement cost him his skin

Bare flesh could be seen

Until he learnt the rules -

He brought his own punishment

They starved him three days

He saw a mango descend

He forgot he was in chains

He tried to stand up, he lost his finger

Until he learnt the principles -

He brought his own punishment

Today you are deceived

By a friend you love so dear

Tomorrow another comes

You forget about the hurt

Until you truly understand

You prepare your own tears

RESTORATION

My, my, my

I can see the bride

Clapping hard, singing loud

Symphonies of saints, streams and sunbirds

As she walks merrily towards
Gracious groom

It is dawn, the sun has shone

Sunflowers facing eastward

Absorb the fresh dew

The morning star

Smiles at the heart exposed to the warmth

Revival is here

Trees have flourished, food is furnished

Our green forests are fertile

Vagabondage is over

Little babies and adults alike

Hand in hand sing the national emblem

Grateful for the oil

EDUCATION: CONFORMITY OR CHOICE?

The extent to which conforming to the national curriculum is the best way to educate students remains controversial in Britain. There has been an argument that it is most efficient to teach them the necessary techniques needed for examination processes, on one hand. On the other hand, a fair number of teachers have sustained that learning is not and should not be exam-based. Whether one method is less fruitful than the other is subject to debates. However, in our society today, those who have experience on a certain field are the ones more valued by employers on that field. By this, we deduct that the best people to discuss education-related matters are not David Cameron, Michael Gove and teachers but rather students. A person born in an upper-class family who went to Eaton is not the one that should decide for the lower-class ethnic minority child who of course has a very distinctly different view on how they should be taught. Giving the minority rich responsibility over policies on the ‘education’ sector is encouraging a future generation of failed citizens. This current government under Cameron as Prime Minister has done palpable damages, not least on education. The number of times we students have had to miss school this year because teachers were on strike is simply unimaginable; not to count how many unnecessary half-days we have been forced to have due to ‘teacher-trainings’. One wonders whether these factors will be taken into account when exams are marked; whether the official ‘mark-schemes’ include the number of missed topics for which failure should be excused. Before any discussion is turned into a policy, the government should be brought to seek opinions. Michael Gove as a Secretary of State for Education has no power to rule our lives as he pleases – reducing teachers’ salary on one hand, abolishing January exams on the other. Students have to be given the choice on what will shape their future. Not only should we have the right to choose what to study; we should also be given the right to decide the best methods our studies should include.

The current curriculum for A Levels is made of coursework and exams. Mostly, AS subjects are exam based with coursework only being introduced in A2. Whether or not coursework is of any use is what needs to be discussed with individual students. As far as I am concerned, I would have wished that I had the opportunity to have all coursework-based subjects with no exam included. It is a shame that no matter how happy I was about my coursework essays, it only amounts to a total of 40%. The advantages of a coursework are that it gives one the chance to think on a project for a period of time longer than the two hours we have for exams, it allows one to free from cages of predefined and close-ended exam questions, and it encourages students to improve their final work by constantly seeking advice from teachers. Giving students the chance to work on a question for a period longer than a month gives them room to prove themselves at their best; it is only reasonable that some of us argue that we would rather have coursework than exam. I have had a total of fifteen drafts before I could produce my last English piece of coursework; you do not get this opportunity in an exam – you either fight and win in two hours or fail completely. However, there are a number of problems about coursework that we would like to see redressed. Just like education as a whole, coursework does not really open doors for creativity. Yes it is meant to be a student’s ‘project’ but we students are no more than those who build houses. Our job is to reproduce a final piece according to what the architecture had designed in the plan. As much as I had to say with the four poems I had to analyse, none of what I said would have mattered if I was not following the ‘examiner’s criteria’. It doesn’t matter how much I know about Sociology; as long as my answer answers all but the question asked, I have no more marks than a missed score. Nevertheless, I would still advocate forcoursework. Exams should not be forced on every student – itshould be made one of the many options from which we have the right to choose the method that suits us best.

My reasons for standing against exams are straightforward. Some exams are simply ridiculously conducted. How they expect students to pass is what I still need to figure out. In my GCSE English year, I was scoring full marks for nearly all controlled assessments. As tricky as the mock exams were, I nevertheless managed to have As and occasionally I managed to achieve an A*. With all confidence, my teacher predicted me an A/A* only to be met by a shocking reality after my exams. Where the ‘D’ I had came from nobody really knows. It can only make students want to scream and break all the schools’ windows. It is very dehumanising to have your work marked by a person who has absolutely no idea who you are. It is even worse to know that those who are marking your exams are not necessarily teachers. Then tell me how one is supposed to react when they learn that on top of this disaster, examiners are paid according to the number of papers they mark. The problem with exams is not really, as some argue, the time allowed. With three-quarters of an hour, one has the capacity to produce a highly academic essay. But this can only be so if the question asked has some sense. Sometimes when you read the exam question and the extracts produced, you simply wonder whether those who selected them have human hearts. You really doubt that they truly understand that these exams determine our lives in many ways. No matter how much revision one manages to swallow, it takes resilience and faith to accept the reality met in exam rooms. It is only understandable that the majority fails.

Then when they have failed their exams, society is very rapid on labelling them as ‘deviant’. Of course it is hard to climb the social ladder in a society so influenced by a division between social classes. You only have to send an average working-class student to apply to Oxbridge to realise what we truly mean when we argue that the system has become more ‘equal’. Why is it that the upper-class and middle-class students make up for more than 80% of those admitted to Oxbridge when they are only 3% of the population? Don’t you wonder how and why even the brightest of state educated student is very likely to be rejected from the ‘top universities’? I myself have experienced the Oxbridge interview processes. I have had the chance to meet these privileged few who are believed to be born on another planet. What you discover when you meet these people is that they are absolutely no more intelligent than you are – I do not believe in arguments that they have a higher level of IQ. Instead, they have simply been subjected to the best interview preparation there is in order to be admitted. The difference between them and us is that we have been accustomed to close-ended questions that do not encourage creativity hence why when one faces situations such as interviews at Oxford, they simply cannot come up with arguments that are very much their own and creatively independent. It is not so much the institutions, they are not to blame. It is the system that is constantly making sure to sustain the gap between classes.

Finally comes the whole issue surrounding university. I still do not understand how we are expected to pay £9,000 a year when until very recently the amount was three times less. Some emphasise that paying this money back will not be a very huge charge on the borrower since it will only be 9% when one begins to earn a total of £21,000 a year. But I wonder how much it becomes the more you earn. Unless they expect the working-class to remain in less-paid jobs, university fees are exploitation. Moreover, I am amazed by how much we have to go through before being offered a place at university. After all, aren’t we the ones that are giving them money? Aren’t they the ones that need student or rather customers? It is only to show how confused we all are in this society. University fees were this government’s way of discouraging the lower-class students to move their way up to university. They know that if they are able to get a degree, with the demands of equality and fairness in the work sector today, they would move to equal the middle-class. Little do they know that it is really less than 10% of ethnic andworking-class people that are able to move up the social ladder.

LA LOI DU PLUS FORT RÈGNE

A downpour, a torrent, a tornado
Where am I going?
I can see this cargo
As I am sailing
Is that a rescue? Shall I embrace it?

I am becoming more secular
As football players are for their fans, more and more popular
I am getting increasingly diverse
They are choosing the game of multicultures

Labelling can lead to a self-fulfilling prophecy
But for them I allow amnesty
I open my gates,
I let them enter my place

I welcome them
Like a prince in a harem
I get as a recompense
Their blames and their insults

Yet I know they will look
Back at their history
And see in their book
There has always been among them, controversy

One says it is Postmodernity
He thinks that now, I don't see maternity
As women's primary role
Another says, I have confused a soul

How they judge me depends
On their theories and their perspectives
Some like to understand
That it is a new wave

They bring themselves into this conflict
Of the Ism
They justify their ethic
By fighting. It is Marxism against Functionalism against Feminism
I am the victim

Since I am sourd-muet et aveugle
I pretend not to react
Besides I am disable
And with no arms and legs, I don't have an impact
But one day, they will acknowledge
That they are the ones who shape society
Give it a name. And encourage
The idea of Social Construction.

DESIRE

I’ve raised my head to look up

Tears have come down

It is raining everyday

Showers of repentance

They’ve told me that mercy is without an end

That I should comprehend

Patience has a limit

Although the key to my salvation

You detain

Speaking of a rebirth

I plead for death

That I may afresh commence

Not my life but Yours

Doctors have thought

Anaemia is the default  

Psychiatrists have said

Trauma has effects

Friends have warned

That you won’t

After me forever look

To express, I may not be able

To know I lament

Reflects upon me

The sun of justice

While I look I cannot see

Mysteries of tomorrow

My past is all that is present

It is not pleasant

Flying high up they look down

Down here I look small

Too small to reach your hand

Unless you come closer

Not a new book

To forget is not my desire

Not a new life

To pretend is not my intention

A rebirth

So it will be a virgin heart

HER

Rumours ran round
Senseless citizens sat
Observing Le Monde -
Sixteen year-old Silent Source
Murderer of eleven year-old Innocent Life
Parents across the room
Tears of hatred, anger, violence
Shouted indefinite blasphemes:
Sentence for life, heartless creature!

Innocent was eleven, Silent is sixteen
At eleven, Silent was Innocent
In her soul.
Old ones scattered across the world,
To her eyes brought deadly visions
Of rape and abuse
A coldness was established
For her heart, determined to revenge
Refused to obey.

Across the room, parents heard media
Testimonies of her imperfections -
She is possessed with evil spirits
For she was born from hell, they say in accord
Silent knows parents, friends,
Tears of anger and hatred
Will never know they killed Innocent in her
Hidden loving kindness buried within her
Their fury cannot depict
For Le Monde proclaims
Silent murderer of Innocent.

WHO STARTED DEATH

Red Sea! Red Soil! Red Sky! Hear me when I cry!
Who started death?
Shark’s tooth? Snake’s fang? Lion’s claw?
Or man’s knives, guns, bombs?
The earth has swallowed too much blood to know.

A flash of news captures a vague attention
There has been Bergen-Belsen: forced fasting, making a race of skeletons
Hiroshima: vision clouded with searing cataracts
There is Assad: a rain of bombs in Damascus
Kabila: laughing soldiers in Goma.
As you switch to another channel
There will be others, perhaps Leeds
Birmingham or Bristol or Essex
Your town, your street, your home

A world of Kulunas you have made
Child-men without mothers they must be
Or else why such insensible hearts?
They destroy, they steal, they kill
Biting the hand that needs
You did not watch, you switched off
Too busy worrying about increased taxes,
Aid-starved children you have ignored
Until they grew into men with no purpose
And their violence breeds violence breeds violence
You have let grow a many-headed monster.

Oh Red Sky, who started death? And who can stop it?

LUCK

‘Sir it’s too many homework’
You hear their lazy mouths shout
Three subjects, four days a week
Six hours a day is all they have
To do to waste daily McDonald fat

A home, they have
They have a car, food, laptops
Stagnant minds,
The Great University of Google
Provides Wikipedia, to their desires
Tomorrow, behold with their piece of paper
Marked: Saint College London
To a country of geniuses they fly
And exploit

Geniuses reside in this land
Congo country of origins – source of originality
Where without video games, books and internet
A ten year-old boy builds a plan
Worth billions
They come and film this plan
Without consent it provides
Huge market for their building industry

In war zones live brave spirits
Education is but a word without meaning to them
No need to strike for cuts – regulations don’t apply
No teacher is needed – wisdom is innate
Paper can be burnt and unaccepted outside war zones
But give them the chance to reach
To show you what luck means

Country of origins in its womb – bears foetus
Science can approve
Born it grows into a president, a doctor
Take away abortion, premature killings from your promoted wars
Give them the chance to be born
With no food, no technology
Two of them is enough of what we need
To teach your lazy mouths what ‘too much’ means

WELCOME

In the air they vanished, those great ideas that could have made our universe a better place. Spoken words fly, writings remain. My aim is to guide you through the joy of expressing one's views on the world around us, as you read through my posts. Enjoy!