By Roger G McDonald
The Tribe that Africa Forgot
Our colour in this place sets us aside.
We stand out like the dandruff on a suit.
The procession wheels to make its way inside.
But elders, careful herdsmen, strong and mute,
steer us aside, like sheep into a chute.
The front pews of the church are kept for us.
I feel like an impostor. We are not
the main cast, just members of the chorus.
They’ve lost the script. Or have I have lost the plot?
Aren’t we the tribe that Africa forgot?
(to be continued)