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.
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