Worries
of an African Child
Was
hope here only when the Amazon queen Nzhinga
and Nehanda, the Mbuya, of Zimbabwe fought to shield
us from slave ships?
Was
pride gone after Yaa Asantewa addressed the chiefs
in that secret meeting in Kumasi?
Did
the warmth of home die with Queen Kahina, when she
wrestled
into the swords of the camel riding men?
Was
leadership only when Shaka ruled over Zulu?
When Mansa Mussa ruled over Mali? Or when Askia ruled
over Songhay?
As
dark as the ages were, King Khufu built the pyramids
As dark as the ages were, a University stood in Timbuktu
As dark as the ages were, Imhotep out shone the moon
with wisdom
Today
the ages shine like it was twin with the sun
yet we cannot see our way to a better tomorrow.
What
has chased the once guiding and liberal hill-gods
away?
Was it the same thing that placed these curses on
us?
Kwame
Nkrumah, chanted his incantations
Sacrifices were offered by Nnamdi Azikiwe.
Julius Nyrere performed his rituals, Patrice Lumumba
cooked
his concoctions and the divinations of Nelson Mandela
has been great.
Oh,
Indeed, our native Juju-men have tried their muscles
But the land is too sick for a few of them to heal-
Who will complement their works?
-Konye Obaji Ori
What
the Witch Doctors Say
The
witch doctors say-
the lands fortune bag
carries a curse on the people
But
the trees sway to disagree with the foretelling
The
night concurs as each day carries its tales
of Elephants loosing weight in Ivory Coast
and lions crying in Zimbabwe.
They
tell of the thunders cry- as eagles screech from holes
in Congo
because the mountain peaks are erupting
they
tell of the bullets flying like birds in a migration
to Darfur and
the women and children crying; Sudan! Sudan!
They
say- winds of anarchy blow past Somalia
and peace falls like the water falls of Ethiopia.
Oh,
how grief holds Africa by its horn.
And
the witch doctors say-
Freedom bleeds in Freetown;
Even
the mines tearfully concur.
They
say a kettle of vultures overlook the
blood-red sheets on Zambezi river beds
and bruised mountain foots of Cameroon
and grunt with glee.
They
say Mansa Mussa turns in his grave
as tears of hunger flood Mali;
And
boats are made of gold
The
witch doctors say- the chiefs get pregnant
but it is the people who suffer the pains of labor.
And
after the final contraction,
it is the chiefs who become mothers of wealth.
"Who
will question the midwives?"
I ask. And the Witch doctors say,
"Dogs will bark the moon to fullness;
and a new month shall begin for us.
Konye
Obaji Ori
We
are the Africans
We
are the Africans
We rose with the sun and fell with the rain,
Stood with the hills
And danced with the forest-
when life sang her song.
In
the comfort of our huts and
thatch we sprung.
We
are the Africans-
the paragons of nature-
Seemingly cursed by her grace;
Yet we live- blessed by the sun.
We
are the Africans
"Never hide behind the curtains"
Queen Kahina would say.
"Peacocks are always proud,
Lions are never afraid,
And eagles are strong."
We
are the Africans
Sing us a good song and we will dance to it by the
fireside
Sit by us and we will sing you stories of spiders;
to your awe
We
are the Africans
The leopard never looses its spots
So our baroness stays for ever in our curtain ebony
laces-
However brutalized it may seem.
And
we will always be the Africans
Seated at the peak of King Khufu's pyramids in Giza-
singing- living- dreaming.
Konye
Obaji Ori
Old
Cry
Once
a future of gold
Now a future untold
Behold- the sun is cold
and in sorrow we fold.
Behold- conscience is sold
and on cliff edges we hold
Oh, our cry is old
and in the same old mold
we fold.
Konye
Obaji Ori
