22/07/2026
A HOUSE IS NOT A HOME
For Liberia 🇱🇷
A house is not a home.
Liberia is a house four walls of red dust and green flags,
a roof that leaks when the rain of promises falls. But it is not a home.
In this house, every door opens to a hallway of struggle. We walk barefoot on broken promises, carrying our dreams in empty buckets,
while opportunity sits at the table and eats alone.
No keys are cut for the rest of us. No chairs are pulled out.
Equity is a ghost we hear in the next room, but she never comes to dinner.
Envy is the landlord. Malice paints the walls. Blackmail knocks every morning, collecting rent from our silence. And we pay in sweat, in shame, for our sons and daughters.
We crown kings for six years,
then beg them to act like tenants. Hungry for power,
they eat the rice from our children's plates and call it governance. Hungry to starve others, they lock the pantry and call it policy.
Oh, when will we see?
When will we read the cracks in the foundation and realize this house is rotting from the inside?
I wish each regime could govern one term just one.
Then taste the cold floor they made us sleep on. Then drink the dry tap they left running. Then be treated the way they treated us.
Because a house built on one man's greed will never be a home for a nation.
Until we lay new bricks with our own hands, until we share one pot, one light, one future, Liberia will remain:
A house is not a home.
