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My ancestors had years of struggle
Trying to blend into their masters ideas
And to secure a slot in masters good books
They fought hard to disown who they are
Just to prove themselves worthy
Of their masters colonizing philosophy

I, at the receiving end
I’m battling to reconcile
My ancestor’s conformity
Because I have nothing I can call it my own
They gave it all away in exchange for civilization
Or the master took everything using the same context

My master preached civilization
As a tool to liberate a black child
Our ancestors bought into their ideas
Unknowingly they sold our souls
Like the word peddlers of old
Who come to people wearing sheep skins
Yet they are dangerous wolves

They preached cultural exchange
Yet they did nothing to learn our culture
After all the years I’ve been with my master
He still can’t pronounce my name
Pity for him
I don’t have a religious names

I’ve seen people die because of their lingo
Others perish because of how they look
Many vanished in experiments executed by the master
Skulls are still held captive in our master’s castle
Far away from motherland
Namibians I feel your pain

Hundred years passed since the First World War
We still suffer at the hands of the master
My speech
My food
My tradeoff abilities
All is measured against my master’s way of life
I will never raise above my master
He’s a custodian of western life

The work I do is nothing
If the master does not approve
Even if multitude node with approval

My talent may be up there
Amongst the best in the world
But all that is futile
If the master turns a blind eye
As if my life don’t matter
Sarina give thanks to the all mighty
For you kept on shining till this day

The texture of my skin does not disqualify
The fact that I’m a human being too
I want to believe I’m free
But I still feel, I am a slave
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