A NEW AFRICAN

He is a Chinese man, He walks with the confidence of a crowned king Roaming Africa's ancient paths Like a masked spirit, unfazed by the stares That follow his every step. He finds a new home Claims vast lands, rich with mines Even as the sun glares at him For he wears no claim to black skin. Where hair once curled like the darkest night His shines like a torch in the deep. Neatly parted, each strand kisses the sky— He waves, "Zou Hao," as he takes his leave. The new African Is not a man dark as the bottom of a pot. His stories are not of Bra Spider Nor does he pour libations to honor the ancestors. The new African is Chinese A builder of fragile webs Spun like silk that dies beneath the sun's heat. He wears Agbada, Ankara, Ronko Yet speaks in whispers of trade.