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Week 1 Reading Activity

The poem 'Africa my Africa' reflects on the deep connection to the African heritage and the struggles faced by its people, emphasizing resilience and the quest for freedom. The story 'The Day the Milk-Breast Tree Was Cut' narrates the emotional impact of losing a cherished tree that symbolized community and identity, highlighting the conflict between progress and tradition. Both pieces explore themes of loss, identity, and the enduring spirit of a people connected to their roots.

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Zienna Marie Balog
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700 views2 pages

Week 1 Reading Activity

The poem 'Africa my Africa' reflects on the deep connection to the African heritage and the struggles faced by its people, emphasizing resilience and the quest for freedom. The story 'The Day the Milk-Breast Tree Was Cut' narrates the emotional impact of losing a cherished tree that symbolized community and identity, highlighting the conflict between progress and tradition. Both pieces explore themes of loss, identity, and the enduring spirit of a people connected to their roots.

Uploaded by

Zienna Marie Balog
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd

Africa my Africa

Africa of proud warriors in ancestral Savannahs


Africa of whom my grandmother sings
On the banks of the distant river
I have never known you
But your blood flows in my veins
Your beautiful black blood that irrigates the fields
The blood of your sweat
The sweat of your work
The work of your slavery
Africa, tell me Africa
Is this your back that is bent
This back that breaks under the weight of humiliation
This back trembling with red scars
And saying yes to the whip under the midday sun?
But a grave voice answers me
Impetuous child that tree, young and strong
That tree over there
Splendidly alone amidst white and faded flowers
That is your Africa springing up anew
springing up patiently, obstinately
Whose fruit bit by bit acquires
The bitter taste of liberty.
The Day the Milk-Breast Tree Was Cut

Adapted for Grade 8 – Based on the story by Phan Huy Duong

In the middle of our village stood a tall, beautiful milk-breast tree. Its large branches gave shade
from the sun. Its leaves danced in the wind, and its white sap was believed to have healing
powers. The tree had been there for many years—long before we were born. Our grandparents
said it was planted by their grandparents. It had become a part of our lives.

Every morning, the old men would gather under the tree, sipping tea and sharing stories from
the past. Children played around its roots, laughing and shouting as they climbed its low
branches. During special days, we placed incense and flowers at its base. We believed that
spirits watched over it, and through it, they watched over us too.

But one day, everything changed.

A group of men arrived with tools. They said a new road had to be built, and the tree was in the
way. Some villagers protested. "This tree is part of our home," they said. But the men would not
stop. They were following orders.

We stood in silence as the saws buzzed and the axes chopped into the tree’s strong trunk. It
took hours. The tree did not fall easily. It resisted. And when it finally came down, the sound
was like thunder—deep, painful, heavy. White sap flowed from the cut like tears.

The village felt quiet that night. Something was missing. The tree had been more than just
wood. It had been a friend, a witness, a symbol of who we were. Without it, the heart of the
village felt empty.

Now, in the space where it once stood, there is only dirt and passing cars. But in our minds, the
tree still lives. We remember its shade, its strength, and what it stood for: our past, our identity,
and our connection to nature and each other.

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