I am a child of the African soil.
I wake each day with the sun on my face, not just as light, but as life itself. I respect the sun because it feeds the crops, gives energy to the land, and reminds us that Africa is alive.

I walk on this soil with gratitude. This earth carries the bones of my ancestors, the seeds of tomorrow’s harvest, and the spirit of everything African. To me, the land is not just dirt—it is a living library of wisdom, sacrifice, and truth.

I respect our culture, our traditions, our ways. They are not “backward,” they are not “outdated”—they are African. They are who we are.

To the Western mind, I may sound uneducated. I may seem simple, because I have chosen to remain here—at home, grounded, and unshaken by foreign systems that claim to “civilize” but instead uproot. Yet in my eyes, it is the other way around. True ignorance is abandoning your own roots for borrowed ones.

I do not despise knowledge. I despise the arrogance that pretends knowledge only comes from the West. Africa had universities in Timbuktu before Europe had books in their villages. Africa had medicine, astronomy, and governance before ships arrived on our shores.

I know these words may irritate many of my fellow Africans, especially those who measure worth by foreign approval, foreign degrees, and foreign passports. But this is who I am.

I am African—fully, unapologetically, and spiritually awake.
I will not trade my roots for recognition.
I will not exchange my soil for a borrowed crown.

This is my truth.
This is my Africa.