Same Blood, Different Battles
I’ve seen the videos.
One calls the other lazy.
The other calls them arrogant.
Clickbait titles.
Mocking accents.
Side-eyes on split screens.
Millions watching them tear each other down.
African American.
Sub-Saharan African.
Same bone. Same heat. Same shadow.
Different borders. Different trauma.
One built in chains.
One born in soil colonized,
then sold piece by piece
to whoever would rename it.
And yet—
instead of reaching across oceans,
they fight like strangers.
Like enemies.
They don’t have to.
Because the blood doesn’t forget.
Even if the passports do.
You both came from kingdoms.
You both were robbed of language,
renamed,
reshaped,
rewritten
by those who never knew your stories.
And yes—
some of you got success
in a world made of mirrors.
A world where applause
means nothing
if you have to kill part of yourself
to get it.
What is “winning”
when the stage is built on lies?
You don’t have to fight.
You don’t have to compete
for air that was always yours.
You just have to remember
who you were
before the ships,
before the shame,
before the screen said:
“Choose a side.”