Tag Archives: deport

When green grass goes brown…

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Ahem ahem. *adjusts mic*

Hello, my dear people! How wona dey? Everything hanging and/or standing as prescribed I hope?

Gosh, I’m horrible at introductions. I think I better just get on with what I have to say.

First though, I gotta apologize for the absence. I was on holiday recently and I’d promised myself that I would blog every week at least, but as you can see,  God’s ways are not our ways, lol. Truth be told I was having so much fun in the sun, sitting behind a computer was the last thing on my mind! Well, until something happened, and my first thought was ‘Gosh I have to blog about that!’. So here I am.

Have you ever seen somebody get deported? As in, kicked out of a country?

I have, and I never want to see it again.

She was of average height, dark, shapely, lovely weave which hung in matted tangles around her face. Her red top looked like it could do with a cycle or two in the washer, and she smelled like she needed to get up close and personal with some soap and a sponge.

That was all I could see within the 15 seconds it took to drag her from the door of the plane, kicking and screaming, to her seat in the rear and strap her in the chair. Like a mad person.

I asked myself…are these the greener pastures we seek abroad? Why are more and more African youth consumed by the dream that is ‘abroad’ (and which often remains just that, a dream), to the point where they spare no thought for the long term repercussions of their actions?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not talking about the ones going to school, working, who have ‘papers’ (ie are not illegal immigrants, and are trying to survive there like I am trying to survive here). I’m talking about the others.

The ones who survive by cheating the system. Who have discovered the joys of scamming, prostitution, and living permanently on credit/welfare/off other people. The ones who spend their lives taking pictures on Facebook with clothes they intend to return the next day, and are more worried about impressing their friends today than building their future. Who share a room with 6 other people, and live in eternal fear of the police/immigration catching up with them. Who after five, seven, ten years abroad have nothing to show for it. These are the ones I’m worried about, the ones I’m talking to.

Why won’t you come back home?

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