Hail Africa, Mother of Grace:

where the rain beats you in July

and the sun burns in March.

They crawled into the limbo

of space and arrived at our shores,

deadened the strings of the djembe,

that whispers to us the dialect in

which we use to cast cowries and

pour libations upon our hallowed path.

They broke the nose of our ancestral faces.

Alas! The vagabonds are all here,

covered in Bald White; with sandalled feet

and heavy boots, awashed in foreign scent

to make war upon our house.

They saw us and marvelled between

puffs of blue waves of tobacco smoke.

And proclaimed: close your eyes let’s pray!

Her gold-plated breasts are broken

And the pyramid on which she

leans is fallen.

Mazi if you could go out and cry

to your kins and brothers;

tell Kanayo, Olisa, and Mkpa

that they have befallen us with evil;

tell them their house is falling,

and the yam barn in the fence

have been eaten by termites.

Tell them, while the strangers idle here

we suffer, and eat dust, watching

the raven and vulture hover above

our broken palm frond roofs.

Echoes in Chant

“Freedom is not just about being able to do what you want, but about being able to be who you are, without fear or shame, and to fight for the liberation of others so they can be who they are too.”

— Assata Shakur

Through the language of our mother tongue

we juggle through the remains

of colonial dent, we press our hope

upon the dreams we carved out

of our common struggle.

We pray to Ọya and swirl

like her waters flowing freely

in the veins of our body!

We dance to the music of mourning

while we carry the placard of an identity

in our hearts. When we feel weary

and unable to proceed in this dire straits

and our throats dried of thirst —

we tap and sip strength from the palm wine!

“Teacher Don’t Teach Me Nonsense”

Fela Kuti was right!

Mungo Park discovered River Niger.

The unfair narrative of an invader

that carries fire, burning a people down

from their history and values.

This is the tool of control embedded

in our educational system — and we do

trail behind it seeking approval with our

beaten and imprisoned tongue.

many years

since the sandalled feet left

scramble for Africa