THE CORRUGATED ZINC ROOF

 

When he first came to the village, he was a stranger to us all,
But he soon became my friend, this man so thin and tall.
Often, under clouds full of rain we waited,
Till it battered down upon his roof, which was zinc and corrugated
Firecracker rain fell down from the sky,
But we sat there together, safe and dry

With just a few vegetables, he made soup that was tasty and good
I was just as poor as he, but on certain special days I would
Bring along some foreign beer, that smelt of yeast,
And while we laughed at the radio, we each had a feast

From village to village, we watched the smoke, and the rumours, spread
It was a fine evening when we left his house and fled
Ten miles to walk, to the town where his family stayed,
But, on either side of the road, dead bodies had been laid
We walked on in silence, on into the night
Till we came to a checkpoint, that was noisy and bright
My real friends where there, and their weapons dripped red
They came up to me, and one of them said,
“Is he one of us? One of our kind?”
I laughed, “I’ve brought you a Tutsi. Are you blind?”

And so it was that I came to own this fine zinc roof
What? You would have done the same.