I Was Born in Caabudwaaq: Where Some See Struggle, I See Resilience

Red termite mound and thorn bush

Red earth rising, bold and wide,
A fortress shaped by life inside.
To some, it’s dirt and thorny brush,
To me, it whispers, “You are us.”

Child in a compound, surrounded by stick and sheet metal huts

The children plays near jugs and thread,
Not rich in gold, but spirit-fed.
Where others flinch or turn away,
I see the strength to stay and stay.

Two girls sitting on a termite mound, playing and chatting

Two queens atop a termite hill,
With bottled crowns and time to kill.
No throne of gold, no court or feast,
Just endless sky; and peace, at least.

A girl with a box on her head

A box becomes a shade, a crown,
She walks the field, no looking down.
Where others see a child in lack,
I see a genius, thinking back.

Goats

A fence of thorns, a watchful tree,
A herd that roamed so wild and free.
You see a fence; fragile and thin,
I see a home we built within.

This is my birthplace, red and bare,
But full of life and full of care.
Where every rock and every thorn,
Reminds me of the day I was born.

Though some see struggle, loss and decay,
I see people find their way.
We built with scraps, but hearts intact;
Caabudwaaq, I carry you on my back.