EPISODE TWO
Three months later, the northern hills of Kintaba were filled with machines.
Huge trucks arrived before sunrise.
They carried away gold-bearing rocks and minerals.
The people who lived there watched silently.
The land that had belonged to their ancestors was being transformed into an enormous mining site.
A young farmer named Kojo stood beside his father’s old cocoa farm.
“This land fed us,” he told the government officer.
The officer shrugged.
“The country needs development.”
“Then why are we becoming poorer?”
The officer had no answer.
A few weeks later, Kojo’s family received compensation.
It was barely enough to rent a small room in the city.
The mining company became richer.
The politicians became richer.
The businessmen became richer.
But Kojo’s family lost their farm.
Africa had become a marketplace where everyone seemed to know her price except her own children.
Her gold was sold.
Her oil was sold.
Her diamonds were sold.
Her timber was sold.
Her land was sold.
Sometimes even her people’s dignity was negotiated behind closed doors.
Yet every year, politicians stood before microphones and shouted:
“Africa is rich!”
Yes.
Africa was rich.
But somehow her children remained hungry.
That was the tragedy.