As a boy,

my mum, my dad and I shared a game.
We played it every school morning till I was six.
My mum would come to wake me up,
and I would pretend to be so asleep.
Then she would go and call my dad,
who would come to me saying these words,
“ROAR LIKE A SIMBA.”
I’d pretend to sleep till he got right close to my bed,
then I would get up,
and jump right into his arms;
roaring like a Simba.
Then I would say to him,
“good morning papa!!”
He would kiss me on the forehead,
and tell me how much he loved me.

We all shared a game.
“ROAR LIKE A SIMBA.”
This was no ordinary roar.
More than a Simba’s roar,
it was a roar of faith.
Until that day,
the ROAR never came.
Then my uncle wakes up one morning,
and takes me on a never-ending ride past sugar cane plantations.
“ROAR LIKE A SIMBA.”
We reach a place with a great number of people,
all in long faces.
“ROAR LIKE A SIMBA I STILL REMEMBERED.”
A confused of a boy, I entered the compound’s gates.
“ROAR LIKE A SIMBA.”
We reached a hut with too many elderly people
seated in a fashion like lions in mourning.
“ROAR LIKE A SIMBA”
Then I saw my mum seated sad and ran to her,
but before I got to her,
I saw my dad’s picture which diverted my ran
to the direction towards it,
only to be confronted by this big box.
I climbed onto a stool to see what was in
and it happened to be him.

“ROAR LIKE A SIMBA,”
I said,
hoping that he would wake up and hold me in his arms.
“ROAR LIKE A SIMBA,”
I said,
hoping that he would wake up and kiss me in the forehead.
“ROAR LIKE A SIMBA,”
I said,
hoping that he would wake up and tell me how much he loved me.
Then my momma pulls me away before my papa even says a word.

And for years he hasn’t said a word.
So 16 years later I write these words,
for the little boy in me who still awaits his father’s
SIMBA ROAR.
Papa come home,
’cause I miss you.
I miss you waking me up and telling me how much you love me.
Papa come home,
’cause there are these things I don’t know,
and I thought you could teach me.
How to shave!
How to play table tennis!
How to talk to a lady!
How to even walk like a man!
Papa come home,
’cause I want you back.
I want to be an engineer just like you.

And 16 years later,
this little boy cries in me,
and so I write these words.
Trying to heal,
trying to father myself and dream like a father,
who says the words my father did not live to forever say
“ROAR LIKE A SIMBA.”

For every lesson, I fail to teach here,
remember these words:
Shave in one direction with strong deliberate strokes
to avoid irritation.
Thus you stay sharp and focused.
Dribble the page with
the brilliance of your ball point pen.
Thus you work hard and smart in your walk.
Walk like Joseph,
and then your Mary will come to you.
Thus you be good and you will meet good people in your walk of life.

No longer will I be there to roar for you,
so you must learn to roar for yourself.
ROAR ROAR
down the doors of tribalism and poverty
that our fathers could not.
ROAR ROAR
on doors of opportunities
for your friends and family.
ROAR ROAR
on diligence for the sake of your children.
ROAR ROAR
for you, not for them,
as long as we are free,
the darkened caves can’t contain their spirits.
The best of them still lives in us.
ROAR ROAR
with the knowledge that we are their sons and daughters.
But we are not their choices.
Yes we are our father’s sons and daughters
but we are not their choices.
But despite their absence, we are still here,
still ALIVE, still BREATHING!!
With the God given power to change this world to the better,
One little boy and one little girl at a time
We will always roar
And so I Say
ROAR ROAR