When Tomorrow Forgot our Names
For Those Who Gave Everything and Were Never Counted
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They will say we disappeared. They will say we went quiet. But we know silence doesn't mean peace; sometimes, it's just tiredness dressed as calm. We are the ones who used to answer every call, who stayed long after others went home, who smiled even when the heart was already carrying a funeral inside. We gave, we waited, we believed. Then one day, the world walked past us as if we were strangers. There's a proverb from Ghana that says, "The one who fetches the water is the last to drink." That's us. We built houses whose doors we never entered. We raised voices that sang other people's names....
They will say we disappeared. They will say we went quiet. But we know silence doesn't mean peace; sometimes, it's just tiredness dressed as calm. We are the ones who used to answer every call, who stayed long after others went home, who smiled even when the heart was already carrying a funeral inside. We gave, we waited, we believed. Then one day, the world walked past us as if we were strangers. There's a proverb from Ghana that says, "The one who fetches the water is the last to drink." That's us. We built houses whose doors we never entered. We raised voices that sang other people's names. We fought battles that never had our flags on them. When the drums stopped, when the crowd went home, we were left sweeping the same ground we once danced on. Our names used to taste sweet in other people's mouths. They used to call us savior, helper, friend, family, and lover. Now, when they see us, they act like memory has washed us out of their heads. Maybe tomorrow; don't forget us. Maybe tomorrow; I just got too busy pretending to be new. But we know what it means to be forgotten by the very people who once promised forever. We have learned that giving everything doesn't guarantee remembrance. We have learned that love does not always echo back. We have learned that you can pour all your water into another's jar and still die of thirst. The world has a short memory for kindness. It remembers what you failed to do more than what you did. It claps loudly for your efforts, then turns away when your hands are empty. Sometimes, we wonder if we were foolish or just human. To give like that without balance, without fear maybe that's what makes us who we are. Maybe that's what makes our story worth telling. Because the truth is, no matter how hard we try to sound strong, there are nights when even the strongest of us sit up in bed and whisper, "What was all that for?" In our part of the world, we are taught that community is everything. We greet, we share, we show up. We cook for neighbors, we bury each other's dead, we hold babies that aren't ours, and we lend money we don't have. We are raised to believe that humanity means never letting another suffer alone. But no one told us that the same people we lift might one day walk over us to climb higher. We are not bitter. Not anymore. Bitterness is a burden that cracks the back. We are just tired of pretending that it didn't hurt, that it still doesn't hurt. We are tired of watching those who took from our hands act like their own strength carried them here. We are tired of seeing our love repackaged as someone else's victory speech.
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