Juby Peacock


It caught me by surprise
Yes, like all great plots do
When it is a surprise!
Wondering if I felt the same way and if me being receptive of a kiss means I am agreeing to something more beyond the kiss
And this is why I can't forgive his grievous sins
I repent of it none the less because
Like a disease you don't know you have it until the symptoms start to manifest
It makes me want to vomit it out and sanctify myself
How many burnt offerings can redeem me for what I did and what I didn't do?
I was still grabbling with men like Holocaust, and Apartheid
When Xenophobia fell on my lap and said
"Honey I am home"

It's like the prodigal son who comes home every single holiday
Or an ex- girlfriend who just won't go away
Always a mirror to remind us of just how ugly we really are
It hit me like a slap across the face
That within our restoration and reconciliation
Brewed looseness and depravity
That is unconscious of black consciousness
Tell me brother do you know we were born from the same womb?
And That I carried you on my back when they killed your mother and burnt your home
You convinced the whole world to fight for your freedom
And yet, you turned around and raped the soul of Africa
And that's why it was a great surprise
The making of a great tragedy: Xenophobia

The oracle said he would come
And that when he is amongst us we will not recognize him
He told of a story of the beasts of Ireland and beasts of England
Who once united against a common adversary
But after their battle was won
It became apparent that all animals were equal,
But some animals more equal than others
Tell me brothers are we not cut from the same cloth?
Were we not burned by the same sun that bought us this hue?
Were our fathers not swallowed by the same earth?
And their ghosts still seen digging up the kimberlitic gold?
When did we know the boundaries of boarders could separate our eternal bonds?
When did you start calculating dividends and asking for pounds of flesh?
Tell me brother do you hate me or do you hate yourself?
For I am only a perfect reflection of who you are

Try to fight the war in your head and understand
My poverty might be obvious but yours is in the mind
Why fight the reflection in the mirror
For it only reciprocates what it sees
Even nature knows blood is thicker than water
For centuries I borrowed you my daughters and you lent me your sons
Can you calculate the blood that has been shared between us by shedding it?
Won’t you wake up to the reality that you are sleeping with the enemy?
True emancipation starts with naming and shaming the enemy
The enemy was never me, the enemy was always him
Xenophobia: the deceiver, the destroyer and the accuser of the brethren


Africa beat, in the midst of its doom
Legacies clouded by pride
Bitter wars fought in the tide
Don’t you die Africa!

In the midst of this locomotion
I am betrayed by my very brothers
And the power of the Martyrs voices
Has been silenced and replaced

It’s bestowed on the foolish leaders
All they care about is wealth and money
They don’t care about the dying children
And they all are trying to silence the beat

Ugly indeed, as we fight for relief
We draw courage from the beat
And there is bloodshed as we fight

African dreams sinking into the graves
And the crop of our land
Is attacked by the plagues
Of a mortal disease

I believe in power of mercy
Yet this killer is very brutal
There is a very vicious circle
And the damage can’t be removed

We are abused by the literate tyrants
Who were wrecked by our sad dark history
We endure all the corruption
Everybody is trying to silence the beat

Still we dance in the midst of the motions
We dance as we celebrate under the fiery skies
We dance as we eat at the crack of dawn
In Africa, my divine


He came to me in bated breaths
There in the midst of traffic
I was from school with the other girls: barely an adolescent in a hurry to grow up
And I knew at that very moment that I would sell my soul to him
Him, for I loved Him so
Him, Him, Him, an angel disguised
Hair as blonde as gold
Eyes of sky blue, scattered as cumulonimbus clouds
He said I was beautiful, that I could stop the traffic
I fell under his spell
Captivating my heart, unlocking my chastity, igniting my libido
Letting my womanhood explode into a thousand little bombs
Like a seasoned swimmer coming up for a much needed breathe
Oh the little sins of pleasure

I had watched enough movies to believe in fantasies
So he took me to places of black suits, silverware and etiquette
He made me promises I knew he couldn’t keep
His love I yearned for so I chose to think with my heart and not my head
But now my heart has stopped beating and my head…oh, my head.., hurts
My body is sore with aches and pains
My dreams and fantasies have all been eroded
I give pleasure to faceless men
And even though I give it all day and all night
I still cannot stop the traffic

These pictures now haunt me; they play as flashes in my head
Of how I sold my soul to an angel of light
He led through the rushing traffic
Like a sheep to the slaughter I followed
Lead by a hundred sweet little lies
He said he would make me a queen in Paris
The city of love and romance
He promised me gold chains and tiaras
That promise he did keep
Because now I am the queen of the night
Now I am bound with silver shackles and chains
This queen only dresses in silk and lace
Between these four walls called my castles
And the bars are closing up on me now
Every night these men demand more of my energies to satisfy their unquenchable thirsts
A little African experience they demand

He said he would give me everything
And I sold my soul to be with me
From a loving and caring family
To a mere statistic caught in the traffic
Sometimes in the midst of this turmoil, my head drifts back to my village
In Africa, the land of the free
Never dark as they had described it
Darkness is here and dawn never comes
Africa I long for you
I work, work, work and never see the fruit of my labor
I long to see my father’s face again

“Father, I did not listen to you
I loved with my heart and not my head
And now my heart has stopped beating, and my head, oh my head… hurts”

“I know you still look for me in the mountains
I heard the stories from these brutal men who mock my pain
And now I know that true love is found in an old man who has not stopped searching for his daughter
I hope one day you will find me
And I hope you will bury this tired body in Africa, my home
And with this last wish bring redemption to my soul
That many a bright eyed girl would escape my trap
I wish you to write on my epitaph
That she was trafficked.”

Juby Peacock is a 32 year old Creative Artist. She is an advocate for the abused and marginalized. She uses her poetry to stir change in the lives of Batswana and the world over by addressing contemporary issues through her poetry. Her work is found in the Kalahari Review website, Joy online magazine, YouTube and an upcoming anthology she is writing. She is the Public Relations Officer for Poetavango Spoken Word Poetry that hosts Maun International Arts Festival. Juby is also currently a Mandela Washington Fellow for 2016 and a current Regional Advisory Board member for the Southern African Region. She was recently famed for asking President Barack Obama a question on “Balance and accountably” at the 2016 Young African Leaders (YALI) Presidential summit in Washington D.C. Juby dreams of impacting nations by proving that old Setswana adage


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