Mother, where am I that progress equals servitude
there in the shadows, dying, is the life I knew
there in the shallows are the children I lost
lost for a country they wouldn’t recognise
what is Mabira to the Buganda dream
is Mabira but a husk in the winds that carry Buganda to the future?
Oh my children, are we but bones upon which the living prosper
our blood but a lubricant in the wheels of time
oh my Mabira, we are out of time
we are jetsam in the eddies of time
it is our time to go
it is our time to be forgotten
A portrait of a man’s silhouette as he walks in the rain at night. Dakar-Plateau, Senegal. ©Abdoulaye Ndao
People sort out cashews in a cashew field. Cassamance, Senegal. ©Laylah Amatullah Barrayn