My Plant
Hamza O.
Planted, mixed, and grew in Nigeria's Soil for 15 years,
Uprooted with excitement and planted on the Canadian soil, A better soil I was told.
Adapting to the harsh conditions, 5 years and going weaker.
Can't fully shine, don't fit in,
A darker plant,
Feels uglier,
The Black, the African, the Nigerian, the Yoruba, the Lagos, the Festac isn't appreciated.
When in Canada act like a Canadian
Hide it, Supress it,
Don't you dare express it.
Fear you will be alone again, might as well forget it.
Connecting with my plants feels amazing, spiritual healing
A part of me blooms, I see.
See why I need to go back to my root,
See why the plant needs to be connected to its root.
Almost sounds like a fairy tale.
Your roots tampered
Tampered by the angels who swear they guide and protect you.
You feel lost, lost in the wind, becoming a tumbleweed
You're strong, take your time, keep adapting, Keep growing, keep connecting with your plants.
You will find you, your indigenousness, your Blackness.
