I come from a place they call away
Nyamuon Nguany Machar
I come from a place they call away.
I’m not sure it’s safe to say why I came
but only that I’m looking for a place to stay
You see I’ve walked through many lands desperately searching for a place I could call home
Chased by a fear that my new home might be a place called alone.
I reach for scents, tastes, something to remind me there is a place where it’s ok for me to be all that is me and in that place I was once free
As I journeyed through miles
I came upon a stranger’s land
Its coasts and the beckoning lighthouses much different from my hot desert sands
I feared of the natives and how they would perceive my dark tone and structured bone
Would they accept a pilgrim that had ventured so far from her home?
What would they think of the physical and emotional scars that I held?
Would it make them shun my presence
And question why I could not stay in the place where my great grandfathers dwelled?
Would they apprehend me and lock me away?
Would I succumb to devastation now that I’ve entered the horror and fray?
Or would they be a kind people ready to embrace my broken and shattered spirit and soul?
Would they usher me to places to again make me feel whole?
Is there the possibility that they would reach for me and give of their abundance
and allow me to rest under the shade of their evergreen trees?
Would they teach me their craft so that I may embark on a mission?
So that I may dare to dream their American dream and bring my fantasies of a
new world to fruition.
Maybe they will love the food, spices, and language that I bring
Or maybe they would dance in jubilee to the song that my ancestors sing
Who is to know when they enter a new world?
I suppose I’ll just keep these words as a prayer of a young foreign girl.