They found us fishing
and asked what we were doing.
So we shared what was abundant
with that greedy child called West,
who knew not when his belly was full.
For generations West ate till he had stripped us of our core.
Did you not see;
your silos, fields, huts slowly become empty?
Yes; but can one leave a child hungry?
For when full; it brings so much joy.
Then one dawn we found ourselves
in a land foreign yet our own;
diseased, hungry, and warring.
My brother West, grown had left
returning to his world.
Leaving ours changed for ever;
what we grow does not feed us;
if disease does not kill us first, our leaders will.
When we are good sometimes West promises aid.
Aid that comes wrapped in debt we can not repay;
many times I have asked my brother West.
Show me how to grow aid?
Always, he does not understand
that it’s not the fish he sends we need, but
the means to catch this new fish.