This past Wednesday, a local poet put on a show called P.S. I love you. It was an intimate candlelit evening of home-cooked dinner, poetry and music put on in honor of people whose families had come from,are still living in or had died in war-torn countries around the world. The young woman who hosted the event is Congolese. She read a heavy, heartfelt letter to her country which she longs to visit but can’t because of the crisis that’s been happening there for decades now over resources, rubber, coltan, diamonds…etc.
I can’t imagine what it is like to see your country being pillaged and pillage itself and not seem to be able to dig itself out of the wreckage. I am so thankful for my country, Ghana. I’m thankful for her beauty, peace, character and that i’m able to visit her. I’m glad I’ve been able to get to know her to some extent. To many diasporans, our mother countries are like family members. They do some messed up ish but we will defend any fool who tries to bad talk them. We love them just because we are of them. Some of the people who shared at teh event had never been to their mother countries- Somalia, Congo, but expressed this fierce sentiment of longing, protectiveness, hope- even if it was just peanut sized.
One young man who spoke about Congo said it feels like no one cares. I think he’s right to an extent… it feels like that because not enough people care. That’s not to say that the people who voice their concern, who march to bring awareness, write petitions and letters to the government for action, don’t count for something. They count a lot. But they are carrying a huge weight on their shoulders which would get lighter if more people lent their ears to hear and their hands to lift up the cause.
it was encouraging to see this young woman, listen to the call- more like an ache- in her heart and put on this show. just to remind those countries that we are all connected to that we care.