Your Life, My Life

As an African in Africa what makes my life worth anything more than any of the millions of lives lost in needless bloodshed?
What makes me so sure that war will never coming knocking again on our doors, bullets fly through the air we have enjoyed so peaceful?
Those who died never knew that their day had come,maybe they naively never guessed how selfish and ruthless men could be.
As an African in Africa I could have been born elsewhere and been subjugated to the tyranny of a despot crazed by power and drunk with the heady cup of our blood, sweat and tears.
As an African in Africa, I could have seen my parents die in front of me, murdered by people we considered neighbors who we sat together with in the pews in holy reverence on Sundays.
As an African in Africa, I could have been born in a time when we had no benefit of hindsight, no knowledge of anything better than what we have had to endure here, no understanding of the value of life.
For what is my life? As an African in Africa I am no better than those who died in vain, no more noble than those who do what they must to survive here.
Perhaps we are the generation that has finally figured it out, found the leak, dressed the wound and learned the lessons,
Perhaps our children will have a better story to tell.
My life, your life; who’s death is just enough to be counted as another casualty of existence on this continent and who’s death will carry enough weight to change the tide of history?
Your life, my life- will we ever know their worth?

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