The African story
Told amid cluttering noises
Of broken pots
And silent walls
Told over sharing a traditional beer
At the sun set.
Of ancient cultures
Fading traditions
Wails over the dead
Togetherness of the bereft
Drum rolls of the sorcerers
Over shaking of the beaded gourds
And chattering of new tongues.
Of proverbs by the religious
Hysterical outbursts of folk songs
Vigorous dancing, tooshie shaking
A practiced repeated rhythm
Our history is told
Our legacy revisited.
Our old Africa,
Where mouth served as newspaper
and radio and satellite and television
Cannot be replaced.
Battle for our freedom
Encrypted carefully on hard covered books
From the horn of Africa, to south
To the direction of the sun rise and set
One thing still remains
Our story, our African story,
Whether in indigenous or foreign tongues
Written by Anglophones, or natives
The visitors or hearers
Still remains our story
We own it
We own our Africa.
{Photo courtesy of Google Images}
