"the diaspora."

Congratulations to our Young Authors’ Councilmember, Faaya, in grade 12 for your Scholastic Art & Writing Award!

We are so proud of Faaya for submitting her poem, “the diaspora.” which received an Honorable Mention in the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards presented by the Alliance for Young Artists & Writers and the Minnesota Writing Project. This is Faaya’s third year as a YAC member, and we are so honored to get to amplify her brilliance.

Read the full piece below:


one.

we are the children

of the unspoken diaspora

and the tongues our mothers cut out

to feed us their language

that has been long forgotten.


here, there is no such thing as racism and diaspora

only, ethnic cleansing and tribal wars.

burning villages

and burning homes

and burning people

and a history that has never been our story.


where the muhammads and noorias

have never stepped foot outside this country

but have lost their fathers to the diaspora


our names are the synonyms of bloodshed.


yet, it is not diaspora

when we didn’t even notice that we are disappearing.

from the blue nile to the great rift valley

our blood is why the river flows and the plants grow.


how could we be a part of the middle passage

when we were slaves on our own land.


this is a place

where prisons and diaspora are no longer two separate lines.

no chain is stronger than the one tying us to this land.


the red terror is diaspora

diaspora is the red terror.

our language and our people are disappearing


our neighbors tell us the story

of the man and his wife

and the goats that never existed.

what they mean

is to stop dreaming of things that’ll never exist

as if we too aren’t going to be lost to the diaspora.


and where will we even go when there is a war in every country but our own.


we are supposed to be the children of freedom

in a corrupted country

with a corrupted government and a corrupted military


yet they say, the government can’t be corrupted

when it’s our people running the system

and the military

and the guns that slaughtered our students

and murdered our free speech.


by calling ourselves by their name

we are turning our backs on the blood spilled in our names.


mount entoto watches us as we die for this land.


there's a war going on in our country

and they play their national anthem to cover up the fact that we are disappearing.

and they stand there and wonder why we are disappearing

like the diaspora wasn't their creation.


there is a reason our parents never looked back.


protesting is resisting and resisting means being arrested.

prison and diaspora are no longer two separate lines.


where foreign countries look more like home

then this place ever did.

with their green cards and american dreams,

why wouldn’t they leave us?


but, we are not the children

of forgotten dreams and burning villages

of highlands waiting for our return.

we are the children of this land.


and we would rather die

then let them change our story of rape and genocide

of villages burning to the ground

leaving daughters fatherless and sons motherless.


no river or lake can wash away the scars written into our flesh.


from the blue nile to the great rift valley

to highlands waiting for our return

our people are disappearing

our parents are disappearing

our language is disappearing

we are disappearing.


two.

we are the parents

of the unspoken diaspora

and the blood we spilled

for the children we’ll never see.


here, there is no such thing as gun control and civil rights

only, racism and diaspora

bloody streets

and bloody guns and bloody faces

and a history that has never been our story.


where we spend our nights poring over textbooks

to learn a language that can’t even pronounce us correctly.


our tongues are forgetting the language our fathers beat into our heads.


from new york city to los angeles

our blood flows through these streets.


the roots of this country

are built off our assimilation and genocide

our civil wars fueled by their fears.

and they would rather murder a hundred of us than leave our motherland.


we were stabbed in the back

by our own government

our own media

our own military.


we are the parents

of brothers and sisters

who were arrested for protesting arbitrary arrests.

of american dreams

broken english

and an unspoken suicide rate.


the police are hunting us down

both in these streets and in our schools.

what was the point of leaving

if we’re going to die anyway.


where prisons and diaspora are no longer two separate lines.

no chain could have kept us from leaving that land.


our fathers’ names tell the story

of generations of white-washing and stolen land.


and we would rather die

in a foreign country

then stay there.

would rather die

then admit that

the danakil depression is the only time depression is okay.


even bakri sapalo was buried in a different country.


where the great plains remind us of genocide and mass murders.

broken english that can’t even save us from our extinction.

no ocean or river can wash away our stories.


we are disappearing, dying

and our media does not care.

our government does not care.

our military does not care.


yet, we still call ourselves by their name,

even though our blood has been spilled in our names.


prisons and diaspora are no longer two separate lines.


the atlantic ocean whispers

promises of green cards and american dreams

but never told us that no language will pronounce us correctly

except for the one that is disappearing.


our mother tongue has been buried in the diaspora.


both here and in ethiopia

we are the parents of depression.

the parents of a suicide rate

wrapping and wrapping around our throats

slowly choking and drowning us.


africans do not belong in the water.

we do not belong in the water.


yet our children are drowning in our disappearance.

remembering how fate and destiny are far too intertwined.


the diaspora will leave no one alive.


we are the parents of a disappearing language.

of children who know nothing besides war and diaspora.

of highlands waiting

wondering when we will go back to the land we once called home.


from new york city to los angeles

to the great plains begging for our death

our people are disappearing

our children are disappearing

our language is disappearing

we are disappearing.

826 MSP