Monrovia is covered in black,
Men moving, women moving——
Children are fed up—— they join the troop too.
Boots uprooting everything on the way.
Women wearing jeans, with drawings and bravery on their faces.
They hold placards in their hands, with Potato Greens too.
You must be ready when the police teargas you.
There is no time for makeup when your six months old daughter died from rape.
There is no time for fashion when mysterious death is the order of the day.
I cried when the police arrested the protesters the other day.
I cried when the police brutalized those innocent kids just yesterday.
Mornrovia is sweating.
Protests are popping.
There is a protest for the right to protest.
There is a protest to live, a protest for livelihood, and there is a protest against protest.
Those who protest against our heroes are slaves to hunger.
For we are all hungry.
Hungry for peace.
Hungry for hope.
Hungry for money to eat, travel and send our children to school.
Hungry for a stable home.
See, the whole place is upside down.
See, our neighbor’s daughter got gang raped in broad daylight.
See, our neighbors’ father died while rescuing $20 USD from the river.
The river stole the life of a breadwinner.
The other day, armed robbers slaughtered a breadwinner.
Breadwinners are dying everyday.
Who will send our neighbors’ children to school?
Tuition is as high as Wologisi, and oh, our schools are like the cemetery.
Innovation died a long time ago in these classrooms.
Schools, nowadays, are the slaughterhouses of dreams.
There is no hope.
We are all bereaved because of a distant cousin who we did not meet.
We heard of him a few years ago.
We were told we would have met him, but when everything changed, we do not see him.
I checked the court rooms, his ghost is missing.
I checked the cemeteries, no, schools, I heard he committed succide.
I checked the streets, he’s nowhere to be found.
This is the obituary of hope,
a man we did not meet,
a distant cousin.
We missed hearing about him.
I pray he resurrects someday.
Then, together, we all will ride the Lonestar and eat icing cake for breakfast.
Till we meet someday, cousin Hope!
On behalf of the family
Authored by Elvis M. D. Browne (Dequincy)
Featured Picture by Unsplash
