Africa, my continent, I talked to God about you.
I didn’t ask God to bless you,
For you are already blessed.
I didn’t ask God to say ‘Good day’ to your forefathers,
Everyone has already done that in the morning with libations.
I didn’t ask God to tell you who your brothers are,
You keep talking to them every day, as the sun goes down on the horizon.
I didn’t ask God to forgive you yet,
You have to serve your punishment first and then he can forgive.
I didn’t ask God to help you,
Heaven helps those who help themselves.
And Africa, you are not helping yourself.
I didn’t ask God to give you youth,
You have wasted it.
You have to build in your old age.
Africa, when I talked to God,
I asked Him to clear the dirt in your eyes,
So you can see clearly.
Africa, see how abundant the fields are,
And yet the farmer is starving.
See the ground, poured with the libations,
It is dirty and littered.
The forefathers are angry.
See your brother you talk to everyday,
He is dying.
Why can’t you see that?
At night, your hand took his food,
Your mouth did not say anything,
And the feet only did what the brain told him to do.
All these are how it is:
The extremely rich who have everything,
Their messengers,
And the extremely poor who have nothing,
Can’t do anything and can’t say anything.
If your eyes became clear,
And you see these things,
Africa, you will know that you are a fool.
I don’t want to cry for you again,
I don’t want to cry with you again.
I want to laugh with you,
And celebrate a great feast,
As the sun sets on our beautiful homeland.
Adaudo Anyiam-Osigwe – From her book of poems – Words from Beyond when Crying for Myself: Musings of Childhood