In celebration of Black History Month, and in line with Hill Homes’ Values of respect and valuing diversity, we are delighted that the newsletter’s contents for the next four weeks will be provided by Hill Homes’ black staff and tenants.
“Black history month is about taking action. Enough talking. Everyone in society should recognise that we, as black people, are part of their history, and history as a whole, and should be valued and respected for our contribution to the success and freedoms we enjoy today”
Tinu (Hill Homes Staff Member)
Called But Not Seen
Freda (Hill Homes Staff Member)
Skies the colour of turquoise with soft white clouds scattered randomly throughout.
Trees tall with branches that spread like large but elegant arms waiting to be embraced.
Soft silky sands of deep hues of yellow and beige caressing our feet.
Warm deep blue sea emerald in part teasing the edge of the beach.
Fruits so fresh the juices flowed like little streams when bitten into.
Stars so bright, twinkling in the night, along with fireflies such a beautiful sight.
Mama baking in the kitchen the smell drifting along the blanket of the warm air until it reached our nostrils beckoning us to follow it back to its origins.
Mama laughing at our eagerness to taste her cakes made with love.
Running down the hills racing each other to see who could get to the school gates first. Greeted by the teacher at the gate with a hug and a smile.
Come along now children, ushering us in.
Those days passed in a flash as though a dream.
Then we got the call. The “mother” land needed us!
Come “mother” needs your help.
Eager to please, ready and anticipating new adventures, we packed our grips heading to big ships that would be our home for the next few weeks.
Best suits on, our biggest smiles amid tears rolling down our cheeks at the thought of leaving loved ones behind.
Last hugs, kisses and words of wisdom we said our goodbyes
Days passed as we sailed across the ocean. Which at times appeared erratic in their motions.
Sometimes calm, sometimes angry, sometimes sad and even happy.
Friends were made and acquaintances rekindled, as we excitedly spoke of what the future could hold.
Finally! “Mother” we’re here. We’ve answered your call. You needed us, you were in trouble. We’re here standing tall.
Ready we’re ready to do what we can to help “mother” our motherland.
Grip in hand, dressed crisp in our suits topped with trilby hats ever so smart, we ‘had it like that!
Where are you “mother”? We asked as time went by the unified question….one word, WHY.
Huddled together in colds never known. Why “mother” why this is not home!
Why did you call us, say you needed help when the truth is you don’t want us, see us or need us.
No new friends, no brotherly love. No big sister to lovingly scold us. No uncles, no aunts. No grandma to run to.
Where’s grandpa? He’d always been there, this life “mother’s” called us to is so unfair.
We can’t eat the food, it’s just so bland. What will become of us in this so called motherland.
You don’t see us!
We work so hard, trying our best. Only to be abandoned, never passing the test.
NOT even adopted, not given the chance. You don’t want us, not even a glance.
“Mother”…… where are you?
Don’t you see us?
We fought in the wars, flying your planes. Tended to the injured just to be called names.
“MOTHER!!!”
We fixed roads, built houses, working from dawn to dusk like robots in factories. We drove the buses and the trains, while our Hopes and dreams are washed down the
drain. There was no stopper, no plug in the sink…we’re ebbing away like spilt ink.
“MOTHER” WHERE ARE YOU??
Don’t’ YOU see us?
Grey skies and smog greet us each morning,
Still we try our best, a new day is dawning.
We mustn’t give up. No we cant do that! we’re still dressing smart with our trilby hats.
We form new communities, we have no choice, we have to stand tall we cant lose our voice!!!
Skies the colour of turquoise with soft white clouds scattered randomly throughout.
Trees tall with branches that spread like large but elegant arms waiting to embrace.
The warm breeze caresses our face and in our ear a soft sweet voice gently whispers as tears begin to fall. Welcome home my child. Come now, stand tall.
Copyright © 2022 Freda Miller
