Oranje
A poem by Josie Wild
I always felt beautiful in the colour oranje
For my skin is prim and fair.
Existence one of ease In Africa, oh Africa.
Africa, oh Africa.
To come of age in a dry place;
The hardiness of the end times, I wassail to diaspora.
Terracotta specks on my cheeks
Settle like I did in the 1800s.
For the steps I trek do pillage the land.
Shaking and raping
Africa, oh Africa.
I always felt beautiful in the colour oranje.
An intruder, an excluder, How awfully apt.
Africa, oh Africa,
I beg you forgive.
I never felt beautiful in the colour oranje.
A spotted settler, I denote.
I have come of age in a dry place, In a land that I so displaced.
Africa, oh Africa,
You need not forgive.
“This is something that was deeply difficult for me to write, for I hold myself fully accountable to the utter destruction that my people have plundered over this land. Frankly, I had no direct part to play, yet it is my ease of living that I find fault with. I am a woman, I am white. I find my existence to be a balancing act of something that is deeply privileged yet deeply repentant. I hope that this does not come across as a tone deaf seeking of pity. I merely hope to hold space for those that have been displaced; for those that have been made to feel subordinate. I can acknowledge the fact that I cannot understand your lived experience, and what has come to affect your identity, yet I can empathise from a level that is deeply human and deeply compassionate. Love and light to you.”
