It is time now
To write
All the words I have been saving up
For such a time as this
I didn’t know they were there until now, but
It’s time
I would have thought that
This would be
A poem of an African,
A heart mired in the dark continent
Writing with all the pent-up longing
Of a people suppressed
But
It’s not.
There are those who write about Africa
From without,
Gathering together the images of starvation
And poverty and beauty to
Present us with a people of natural savagery
I am not like them.
There are those who write of Africa
From within, breathing
Out the dusty promise of better
Things to come for those who hold onto
Native pride
I am not like them.
I am writing of Africa
As a denizen, a foreigner who has seen.
Africa has made me who I am and when
I close my eyes I can still see Vli Falls misting on the
Mountain and Da Vise squinting up at the sky looking
For rain and Asigame in a cacophony of noise
Surrounding me.
Those things will never be lost.
But
I don’t belong there
Anymore
So I would have always thought
This poem would be
Written in the heart of an African
But I am five years away now and
I have discovered my blood runs red
Rather than Ghanaian.
I’m a citizen of the world and I can’t
Be constrained to any singular land
So
This is a poem to say
Africa, I am always yours but never
Yours alone
And I’m sorry.
Will you take my words
All the same?
I want to say
Thank you
Thank you to the bright blue sky at
Mr. Gold’s house and the grey-blue of Helekpe
Thank you to the green carpet grass of the
Coca-cola house in Ho and
Thank you to the green walls at Efo Dela’s house
Thank you to orange sunsets above a red dirt road
And pink sunrises driving through Pilo Town
Thank you to grey toll tickets and yellow
MTN buildings, to purple kente cloth and
Black mud.
Thank you to the colours of Africa that shine
Dusty and vibrant to weave a pattern through
All of childhood…though I crossed continents
The airport always had white tile floors when I
Returned and I
Counted on that
So in my dreams the line of dancers stomp
Their feet through the dust
With coloured cloths and white handkerchiefs
Swinging and I
Know all the words to the songs
Because the rhythm of the drums
Is my heartbeat
Africa, I will always be yours
I promise
by Ghanaperu