REPLY TO MOTHER AFRICA, A LETTER TO OUR ANCESTORS Dear Mother Africa, and you ancient ones, Thank you dearly and greatly for writing again, To ask about me, one of your beloved children. Truly mother, since you and grandfather left, Things have changed beyond conception, For the homes and gardens are all deserted, Kinsmen and tribesmen, siblings and cousins, Have all traveled to foreign lands and over the seas, And there is little hand to till the soil or farm the land, While those behind can hardly live together in peace. Dear Mother Africa, and you ancient ones, I feel ashamed for all of us your own children, But some kinsmen blame it all on old slavery, Others hold it to colonialism and civilization, And they say they will not return home again. Yes, they claim that they fear for their lives, Rebels and guerilla-warriors in the bush, Bandits and robbers prowling the highways, Dictators and tyrants on the throne rule for life, and Your children now stay away in foreign lands. Dear Mother Africa, and you ancient ones, Kinsmen and clansmen, uncles and aunts, and Even leaders have failed to teach the youths today, Or raise young ones with tenets of homely culture, Rather, they pass blames around and cry victim, Begging for aid from strangers of foreign lands, While stealing the wealth well meant for all. And in the bid to please the stranger-masters, They sell brothers and sisters for simple gold, Raping and maiming women, children, and the old. Dear Mother Africa, and you ancient ones, I am sure many of us have never read or replied, Any of the letters and messages you have sent to us, Through draughts and famine, AIDS, and violence, But in your wisdom do not blame them, I beg of you. Maybe if grandfather had known to read and write, To keep and record our heritage in history books, maybe Kinsmen would neither have learned the white-man's ways, Nor would they have read the strange history of foreigners, Thinking today that our ancestral traditions are mere folklore. Dear Mother Africa, and you ancient ones, I know this letter may hurt your tender hearts, Known to green vegetations and fruitful soil, And cause you to weep for your many children. I know this was not what you have hoped for, 'Cause in your time, when you lived with grandfather, Happiness reigned and the land was blessed abundantly. You roamed the fruitful gardens in freedom and love, You plucked ripe oranges and succulent apples, Helping each other and sharing the harvest, all in joy. Dear Mother Africa, and you ancient ones, I know you wonder how the fruits of your womb, Have gone astray from all the culture you left behind, And abandoned the principles that made them Africans. Take heart mother, for I shall remain your beloved child, Steadfast in the ways and good traditions of you ancestors. The challenge is tough, with only a few on your side, but I shall try to teach my off springs better about you. And when you write me again, please send it abroad, For I too have gone away to a strange land. |