My sister says with a tone of hatred in her heart. “What do you mean go home? Home to Africa.”
As sure as the sky is blue and the grass is green I say again sister I need to go home. Home to Africa.

Sisters and brothers the skin colors of light almonds and chocolates.
Blood in their veins the same as mine.
We are linked together biologically, not by human mothers, but by mother Africa!

My strong African brother. With every intent to degrade my decision and to protect his home America. Where he needs amendments and laws to help him be the proud American negro he is tells me.
“You ain’t never been to Africa! How can you call it your home?”

I reply with sadness realizing his fate.
I am my ancestors. I am their blood.
I don’t need to go to Africa to decide if it is my home. If you knew your history you would see
that it’s not just me talking but my ancestor’s love inside of me.
I reply with flashbacks of my ancestors struggles
And the fate that awaits my people in America.
I need to go home. Home to Africa.

Brothers and sisters so strong, yet so blind cannot see. That not only I, but we need to go home!

Not to the home of the capitalist. Not to the home of democracy.
Not to the home of Red blood White people and Blues lies. Not to the home where we have to shed our blood in just to stay alive.
But the home of Africa!

So I say again, with tears in my eyes and a passion so strong I can’t hide.
With the kidnappers strangling my voice as I cry.

I need to go home. Home to Africa!