Abstract
Mother came to the city with me and my four brothers through a wood van,
we stopped halfway to Freetown and walked and ran,
with a sound bang, . . .bang, bang, began, pan pan.
The very scary sounds of gun firing . . . Chasing us with bullets and machete . . .
I saw children’s hands being cut off . . . full of petty, gutty and sweaty.
We ran faster than a car . . . to avoid being amputated, . . . by God, we ran far.
After many days of walking through the day light and the night, which sometimes made no difference,
as a day that should be bright would be seen dark, clouded.
We arrived in the city, it was a relieve to have reached the city, but yeah . . .
we thought things would be brighter for us
. . .once again . . . but that was a dream that never came to pass.
What followed . . . a long time of struggles, of suffering, and pain,
sleepless nights and empty stomach . . . nothing gained,
we had nowhere to sleep, no food to eat,
Sleeping in a field was our first and only choice,
or was it to find a place rich people don’t wish to stay . . . they avoid.
That was what brought us to what people called the ghetto, tenement, poverty-stricken, crowded, low neighborhood, cheap housing, a garbage patch,
Hunter’s point, the wrong side of the track,
and popularly . . . known to all as ‘slum’,
but for us it was Heaven, a place where we found the peace that lacked.
Today, the catchall term “slum” is loose and deprecatory,
it has many connotations and meanings that persist,
and is seldom used by the more sensitive, politically correct, and academically rigorous, yet still . . . they exist.
A second war began for us, in a place closer to the river, where rubbishes are being emptied,
a war with mosquitoes, flies, rats and pigs,
Flooding, no proper school, no proper health service, no proper planning.
We don’t have homes in slums but houses,
for our focus is survival, finding ways and means . . .
to put food on the table like Konsho beans . . .
they can make you go for a day, or even until the next day.
People recognize you by the way you talk and act,
that simply tells them where you are coming from,
“Ugh, you smell like someone coming from the slum”.
You are nothing in the eyes of people living in the brand and well-structured communities you see,
for as long as you are living in the slum, even if you are the next President or First Lady to be.
I’m only fortunate to see my honorable or any government stakeholder in time for election,
after? No one cares about us, it feels like rejection.
We are being extracted from being a citizen, but we have a right to light, life to shine, to rise.
Living in such communities can kill great dreams and breaks in pieces what seems . . . a possibility.
Please let me find my level here in the slum, that’s where I belong “for liquid finds their level”.
BUT . . . for all I care I’m a strong woman and I can rise up,
Powerful leaders of tomorrow, wake up, wise up!
Don’t let our future break down.
Let our voices be heard,
Because we care about our communities,
Encourage and help us to go and fulfill our dreams and ambition,
Because our vision,
It’s what makes us visible.
The greatest hope I have is to go back to my slum community,
to help them stand strong,
walk together to change that page,
and build a better life for all of us . . . to reach that stage.
For life in the slums . . . still we rise.
