As soon as I take a step outside, the hot African sun beats down on me. It’s way hotter than the sun in America, where we lived for a while. My parents took us to the states for a better life, because they heard stories about how great it is there, and everyone lives in insulated brick houses with AC and drives shiny cars. But we didn’t know that only the white people do have that, and they for some reason think we are less ‘worthy’ then they are because… well, because we’re black. I mean, what? What does that have to do with anything? My dad is really smart, way smarter than some of those Americans, I can tell you that, and the white guys didn’t let him take an interview because he’s black. Soon, we figured out that America isn’t meant for us, and we came back. I mean, we aren’t living the dream here either-we’re dirt poor! But we’d rather be poor and be treated as equals than be rich and suffer discrimination. I get my little brother, Yasir, and we head to school. By school, I mean a big smelly building with teachers who slap you if you speak out of turn, but we’re used to it. After what seems like ages, we arrive, sweating and carrying our big piles of textbooks. “Ready for school?” I ask Yasir, who has about a million friends. But he’s already gone, running to his classmates.
.・゜-: ✧☾Hey,my blooming flowers ☽✧ :-゜・. Chapter 3! this time written in the POV of a girl in Somalia named Kenyada :D Thanks to @raiindew for the cover!
