The sun

Brought white people.

We stared,

With wide eyes.

Hoping to catch their sickness

Of money.

But we didn't.

They were famous

In America.

Everybody said that

They were superstars.

They told us

We could be superstars too.

Then they sat there,

Their faces blank and

absent-minded.

They said it was

"Horrible"

and

"Disgraceful."

We just watched.

They took their thin

Rich-boy legs

Over to the hospitals and clinics.

And paid people some of their

Millions of dollars

So that Africa would be

"ok."

Nothing happened,

Except Rosie felt better,

After a few days.

When the rich-boys and their

half-grown beards

Scurried themselves out of the land

That they didn't belong,

We all checked each other,

Seeing if we were rich.

We weren't.

The big, black things

They called cameras

Bobbed around us,

Stalking our crooked-toothed smiles

And limping walks.

And we just watched,

wishing we could take the "camera"

and sell it

So we'd have long rich-boy legs.

But we didn't.

Then later

We all sat in front of the only

TV for miles.

And we saw the white people's faces

Glimmering, glimmering,

And all the famous rich people

With their devestated faces,

Telling all the other white people

Africa's in need of their help,

And we saw the

fit rich-boys that came.

And their legs swiftly

Moving across the stage.

And I told Marie

"The fit rich boys

Are helping us"

and she said

"And then we'll be fit

And rich

And happy"

And we all agreed.

We all watched,

Blinking.

The rich-boys and rich-girls with

Wavy, long locks,

were going to help us.

And we were happy.