I see a people
From the vast province of the Southern soil
Opening from the Nile
And closing into the Atlantic.
A people of colors tinted in Black
With heights of Iroko and quaver
Of embroided skins with verticals and horizontals of the earth
And kinky strands of sacred origins.
I see a people of the open grasslands and zebras
Living in the luxurious structures of the bamboo
Sitting in the welcome of the twinkling stars
And dancing to the language of the talking drum.
I see a people of the sands and gravels
Mounting horses parading its boundaries of wars
Greeting camels relaxing from trade
And building centuries in the mud of their brains.
I see a people of the stones and woods
Carving divinity with their hands
Reproducing fate in sequence of joy
And baking lives in parallels of achievements.
I see a people of the peace of the mind
Surrounded by the innocence of the face of the traitor
Sealed by the unity of their veins
But scattered by the rod of the traitor.
I see a people whose chiefs have been demoted
Whose drunks are voices of authority
Exalted by the whims of the traitor
And honored for the selfish heart of the White coin.
I see a people with a problem
Of how to restore their chiefs
And work in the steps of their spirits
Yet bedeviled by the sweetness of the food of the traitor.
I see a people of tomorrow
Rebuilding the shrines of yesterday’s glory
And basking in the orals of past traditions
A people with a destination.
*Long live Africa!
© Tydale Bassey Abigail