I am black, Nigerian, but they take me as bad black blood

I wonder at people who have condemned me for the actions of few, I smile at their naivety, I laugh when they think they are better, then I walk away when I find how hollow their thoughts are. They judge me yet they don’t know me, they condemn me, but they need me, they spite me yet forget what they made me become.

That, this bad thoughts you have attributed my name might be true, that maybe you have been right all along, that maybe, no good could ever come out from this black melanin skin of mine, this true mark of Africanism, this rare men of strength, this true black blood that flows through my veins, this aboard riddled with funny tales of poverty, this land of black men.

 This man whose days have all been a war, each day each war was fought, that life had made him become a warrior, a dangerous one at that. 

That his story was one where none cared but he was sure going to survive against all odds, terms and conditions apply, God knows he has been broken, battered and torn to shreds, he had been forgotten on the streets of poverty, swam an ocean of hunger and want, he had been lost today and found the next, but one thing he will never do is to allow his pain take him away from his dream.

That maybe if you knew his story, then you will understand why the survival mode.

What greatest peak could he not acclaim, yet what best con could he not perform, the story of the good, the bad and they ugly ruled its shores. 

 

He will always be stronger than many, for few could survive the blazing heat that he trod on, few could survive the stench of hardship that charred his thoughts, few could understand that there was nowhere on earth he could not survive, because he had gotten an extra to the ordinary man, his scarred body cant hurt him no more, for he became used to the pain.

This insignia I carry on my head, this bad thoughts that comes to mind when I tell you “am Nigerian” this mark you have placed on that name, this bitter tales that you know him by,  I dare you to purge yourself of them all.

Don’t be my judge rather be my friend, don’t tell me my story, rather know my story, dont crucify me, rather help me carry this cross.