A HISTORICAL PLACE
Dear friend,
Once, South Africa was our country … This was before apartheid. I’m writing to you from my “home country” where I’m living now. This “home country” which the government claims is mine, is new and scary for me. I have never been in this country. I hope you are okay, my friend. I miss you and our country. Our land where we grew up and learned how to live. I’m now new at living in this country. When they separated us because of our skin color, something inside me broke. How could it be? Why am I not as good as you? Why are you a better man in the black man’s land? Why do you have the freedom to choose? I’m not mad at you dear friend. I’m just frustrated about the system. This system doesn’t work. Last night one of the women I was sent away with gave birth to a little child. She couldn’t go to the black hospital, because it was too far away, so she went to the white hospital. The doctors wouldn’t help her and sent her away. She bearded? the little child in an alley.
Dear friend - where is the South Africa we know?
By Emma Laursen
Once, South Africa was our country … This was before apartheid. I’m writing to you from my “home country” where I’m living now. This “home country” which the government claims is mine, is new and scary for me. I have never been in this country. I hope you are okay, my friend. I miss you and our country. Our land where we grew up and learned how to live. I’m now new at living in this country. When they separated us because of our skin color, something inside me broke. How could it be? Why am I not as good as you? Why are you a better man in the black man’s land? Why do you have the freedom to choose? I’m not mad at you dear friend. I’m just frustrated about the system. This system doesn’t work. Last night one of the women I was sent away with gave birth to a little child. She couldn’t go to the black hospital, because it was too far away, so she went to the white hospital. The doctors wouldn’t help her and sent her away. She bearded? the little child in an alley.
Dear friend - where is the South Africa we know?
By Emma Laursen
Once upon a time there was an african girl living in a small village in Kenya called Lamu. Her name was Nzuri, which means beautiful in Swahili (the original language in Kenya) Nzuri was a very beautiful girl with a gorgeous red dress and a multi-colored scarf around her head. She was carrying a big bowl with fresh fruit on top of her head, more specifically, passion fruits from a marvelous farm. Nzuri made money by selling her fruit at a local marked near her village. With almost every single penny earned Nzuri bought food and medication for her old grandma, who was seriously ill. Nzuri had no siblings left because they all went to the capital of Nairobi to find happiness and make more money. Nzuri was the provider of her and her grandma. Nzuri’s grandma always said to her: ‘‘You are the reason I’m still shining and the reason why our earth is so pleasant. You’re my definition of a glorious person’’. Nzuri loved her grandma like no one else. She was her rock and her everything - without her grandma she didn’t know what to do and where to be. Suddenly one day her grandma got really sick - more sick than ever. Nzuri knew that she had to do something to earn money to pay the hospital stay. Nzuri was normally against begging, but this time she needed to do something drastic. She went begging on the street but her profits weren’t enough. Nzuri didn’t know what to do, when she thought about the unthinkable - stealing. Nzuri was scared, but she knew she had to do it. She walked to the richest street in the area. She sneaked up around the house to the back door. She knew nobody was home. She grabed the handle and walked in slowly and silently...
By Louise Bryant
Dear mom
I’ve always wanted to be homeless… to be a tramp, who travels around and has no plans for the day. One who earns money day by day. And sleeps a new place every night. Then I decided to do it. I thought: why not?
I want to beg; I think it’s funny! You’ll meet a lot new people, and you’ll have fun! I read a story two years ago, “The Guilt”, where a man called William was begging. Even though I don’t want to be like him, I think that living as a tramp sounds exciting. I think my life is boring – I want to try something new! The same boring school, the same boring friends, the same boring food, the same boring you, the same boring me… Maybe people think I’m weird, because I’m doing this. Maybe I’m the only one on earth, who would do a thing like this… But everyone is different, right? That’s what you’ve always told me.
So, that’s why I ran away, mom. I love you!
- Jimmy
By Katrine Roesgaard
Places – Where the heart is
Your home can be where you want it to be
Your home is the place where you really feel free.
Some would say your home is the place you were born
But why can’t it just be the place you belong?
Even though you cannot travel in time or in space
You can change your cheerless life by moving your base.
Your country, age or skin-color should never restrict
Your liberty of choice
And the strength of your voice
But if a greater force should ever you evict
Alternative of misery would be to depict
Your definition of what a home should be.
Remember:
Home is where the heart is for all eternity
By Mathilde Kristensen
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