Every small act of kindness creates a ripple of change
Your support puts meals on the table and smiles on children’s faces. Every gift makes a real difference.
OH SWEET SIERRA LEONE
(A Prayer in Poetry) By Amina Blake-Foreman
Oh sweet Sierra Leone, land kissed by sun,
With oceans that sparkle when each day is begun,
You cradle a beauty so pure, so divine,
Yet shadows of sorrow trace every line.
I walked your roads and saw your grace,
In every child’s resilient face.
But hunger danced in their tear-brushed eyes,
And hope grew quiet beneath troubled skies.
A crust of bread, a can of sardine,
Treated like treasures, like feasts for a queen.
They lined up in silence, with hands stretched wide,
The same hands that dream, the same hands that cried.
But silence soon shattered into desperate sound,
Tiny hands clutching my legs, pulling me down.
Children so hungry they would not let go,
Fear in their eyes they would be last in the flow.
Chaos erupted, fighting for a bag,
For one small moment of comfort to grab.
We could not get help to them fast enough then,
And had to step back to protect the smallest of them.
We left with our hearts still standing there,
Praying no child would be trampled by despair.
Their clothes, so worn, with stains and smell,
Still carried stories they could never tell.
Little feet sifting through garbage and grime,
In search of a meal, a moment in time.
We watched a guard, so grateful, eat
What we deemed spoiled, no longer a treat.
How could such hunger still exist,
In a world so full, yet so easily missed?
Along the beach, war left its mark,
Amputees resting where waves meet dark.
We stopped, we knelt, we offered what we could,
Bread, sardines, juice, simple, yet good.
One man lit up and ran with delight,
Nearly forgetting his crutches in sight.
Joy carried him faster than pain ever could,
For a meal meant survival, not just something good.
The streets by night, a human sea,
Of souls without shelter, without dignity.
Where is justice hiding? Where is mercy’s light?
When did we normalize this kind of fight?
We who breathe clean air without a thought,
With lights that glow and lives self-taught.
We scroll and stream, we laugh and live,
Yet so few of us remember to give.
I could not stop the tears, how could it be,
That modern days still birth this misery?
When food arrives, they look to the sky,
As if heaven itself had passed them by.
They call us prayers answered, blessings in flesh,
While their gratitude humbles us afresh.
They pray for us with all that they are,
Asking God to bless lives already so far.
This journey broke and blessed my heart,
Tore me open, pulled me apart.
And in the pieces, I clearly see,
A deeper call, a purpose for me.
Not just to rise, but to raise,
To give back through my borrowed days.
For what is success if not to heal,
To feed, to clothe, to help them feel?
Oh sweet Sierra Leone, I see your pain,
But I also see sunlight through the rain.
May your children dance, stomachs full and free,
With bright eyes fixed on what they can be.
I pray your streets will sing with joy,
No more sorrow for girl or boy.
And may the world, with open hearts, reply,
To your quiet tears, to your longing cry.