My Tribe, My Bride

She said I'm her love,
She said she loved me "more than I loved myself."
That's how she put it.
She said I was Mr. Perfect.
Wonderful, adorable, her darling.
Her mother kept smiling,
Her father shock my hands with both hands.
I paused and I watched,
I loved it all.
Then I mentioned the 5 letter word.
That which damned me.
Yes!
My Tribe.
Handshakes stopped.
Faces frowned.
Hospitality became hostility.
Sir, Ma,
What is my crime?
I was born there,
I am from there,
But I didn't choose the womb
which bore me.
Have I wronged you?
What is my crime?
I love her,
She loves me.
Let not my tribe be an impediment.
I thought d coloured men had said "love cuts through tribe, colour and language?"
Was it a lie?