Diary from Maya by Nadia Kingsley I call myself Maya. I have nine years. I live at Guinea. In school I write story. Teacher he see contest on world wide web. He send my story and I win money. This very good for village. They say I must go England to have money that is mine. My mother say go. She say village pump is broke. She say brother and sister can do all work. If I get money, village happy, so she happy. My mother tell me people in England they are ignorant. She say Maya be careful. She right. I travel long. At airport I give nice lady beads. She no give me beads. She just say thank you and smile. This is bad. Man, he sit on floor by road. He two arm, two hand, two leg, two feet. He not thin. He has nice hat. He not wear hat. He put hat on floor. On hat many coins sit. I tell him this no way to treat nice hat. He blaspheme. In England many people. Many holes in denim. I see man walk. Here, I say, take coins, buy good denim. He laugh. He walk with my coins. He talk on travelling phone. I wrong. He not poor. In England I read newspaper. There many pages. One girl missing. One man dead in car. I look for stories - many children stolen in Africa. Stories missing. I read magazine. Women too fat, women too thin. Woman who life very bad. She no big breasts. She husband. She house. She children. This very odd to me. I stay with England family. There many rooms. The children not work. There many televisions, in one house. We - one village, one radio. They throw many useful things. Woman of house cross with me. I save these things. I keep under my bed. She say I dirty. This not true. I ask where the wise people? She laugh. She say they not wise, they old. She say they in special houses. This good but how learn if we not see wise people? I glad I live at Guinea. England need help. |
Prose
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Journey
Poetry
Security blanket
If the dead could speak
This is love
When you left
On a sunny day |
