One day, we will point bullet holes in the walls and frozen accords written with the blood of our lost.
One day, we will shed tears of joy. We will cradle the young ones and tell them of a time when things were different. A time when we watched our tongues and feared our sleep. A time when we wailed digitally and wept physically.
We will look up at the rising sun and breathe a new beginning. We will build a new community with the freshness of the fakes of our fathers. We will come back home, from far and wide, to touch history and make new memories.
For we will have won.
For we have the time to cry and weep and write and mourn. We watch and learn and see the truth. With young eyes we beckon old souls. We have read the histories and we know that we don’t need to have her story or his story.
They may take our future. But they will not take our time.
We will win. We will write our story.
Hi. I’m Tchassa Kamga. Follow me on Twitter. Here’s more of my writing: