I carry the river in my mind
Kunta Kinteh in my bones
Mother’s Wolof lullabies in my heart
Father’s hope in Mandinka proverbs.

I am the sand of Bakau,
The wind of Tanji;
The smoke of Brikama;
The gutters of Banjul.

I am the Smiling Coast that now frowns
At protests of heartbroken youths.
I once ate dukula in school.
I now crave for a loaf of bread at D12.

Rising at moonlight at Kiang
I arrive at Baddibu like under a torchlight with expired batteries.
Our river is wounded.
My freedom is condemned.
And youths stare at the sky, jobless.

Our reserved lands are sold.
The birds of Sakandi fly away in disgust
For the politics of division and hate.

The Gambia is not just where I live—
It is the ink in my blood.
The fight in my silence.

The freedom in my writing.

I am The Gambia.
Not the flag.
I am not the borders.
But the fire they tried to put out.
The cries of mothers.
The hospitals without medicines.
The corrupt officials in black diplomatic suits.

I loath the intellectual thieves
Who steal the people’s treasure.
Who televise the revolution with the word “sorry”.

Written by Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe (edited by Dr. Tijan M. Sallah)