By Emmanuel Raju, Director, Copenhagen Centre for Disaster Research, University of Copenhagen, Denmark; Extraordinary Associate Professor, African Centre for Disaster Studies, North-West University, South Africa

The monsoons and the trees

the colorful umbrellas come out

for some a pleasant time

on the balconies with chai and pakoras.

The rains get intense

the roofs for fly away for some

saving the rice bags, saving the little pieces of paper and identities.

Ah!! Did someone think it’s a flood?

Did they call it a flood?

Oh wait, flood for some and not for some.

And when they call it a flood

came the global banks

came the saviours of the world

with bread and water

with cash for the week

with tin for the roofs and an air of hope.

She wanted to move on

hoping the next monsoon arrives

but one that doesn’t take her roof.

The promises of a new home, in an old city

for the compromise of her land, her identities and her memories.

She moved…

‘you are safe here’, they said

‘you can build a new home’, they said.

Looking for a new livelihood

hoping for a new air of hope

moving on became a myth

stuck in the waves of the past

hoping for a new air of hope.

Until the next monsoon.

oh wait, in anticipation of hope

only until the next flood comes.