I was young as a bird, when I moved to Seattle one year and a half ago, from the Tanzanian land. I was 9 months old when I moved to Tanzania from Burundian land, the land where there are no friends.
I came running on my mother’s back, running to escape the killers and save ourselves. No one was there to save or help us. In a red land covered with blood, I lost all my people except me and my mother. It was hard to live with the sounds of guns and screams and tear stained faces. Everybody wanted to get away. I felt like a hater of that place, a place with green leaves covered with blood, a land that can’t even grow plants, a place that even rocks disappeared because of the humans’ bones and blood in it and the smell which birds and butterflies can’t live with.
Lucky me, I made it and now I can smell the smell of garlic and this clean oxygen. Now I don’t smell the death anymore, I get rid of it. Now I don’t hear the guns and screams and I don’t see sad faces anymore, just music playing on the radio and my soul starting to heal
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