December 3, 1984

Whispering Drums With Maigani

by Musa Ibrahim

"The spirit of Africa"

I was going to talk about the war of nerves that has been going on between the Buhari regime and Nigeria's University students. I was also going to deal with the separatist educational policies of the regime and their implications on the Nigerian populace. But while I was at it, I got this poem written by Dr Patrick Francis Wilmot, head of the department of Sociology, Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria, Nigeria. Because of the timeliness and universality of the poetry, I have decided to dedicate the entire column this week to Dr Wilmot's poem titled:

"The Spirit of Africa"

The spirit of Africa moves
in the man
in a torn plant
crouched
eating a piece of fish in a bowl
with rice
wiping palm oil from his mouth
With a page of La Stampa
thrown to the ground by his boss
A European
in shorts with a beard
the spirit moves
in the bent black backs
of men
breaking the earth with hoes
for the rich loam heaved up
to yield the bounty of millet

In the senzala of Lobango
in the township of Soweto
in the bidonville of Touraine
in the barrio of La Vida
in Roxbury and Ajegunle
in Spanish Town and Bahia
the spirit of Africa moves
in the tormented smiles of black men
bowing
before Europeans
in the blows of black men struck
against their brothers
in the multitude of black faces moving
forward
but without hope
seeking hope in cheap alcohol
seeking hope in religion
seeking hope in the music
of Leadbelly and the mighty sparrow
of Makeba and Anikulapo-Kuti

seeking hope
in the unshaped bodies of women
who sought hope
in marriage
the home
the family
seeking hope outside the shut gates
of the pork-sausage factory
owned by the Lebanese

The spirit of Africa moves
in the calloused palms of a woman
supplicant
turned towards a sky as empty as the
shadow
cast by the child strapped to her back
across the furrows cut in her heels
by the ravages of time

In Salisbury Rhodesia
in Birmingham Alabama
in Swakopmund Namibia
in Stellenbosch South Africa
in Bangui Ubanqui-Shari
the spirit of Africa moves
in the efflorescence of the black seed
plucked
from the mutilated lions
by the white claw

The spirit moves
In the blood of the martyrs
cut down
by the machine guns of Europe
and the treachery of
Africa
the spirit moves
in Patrice Lumumba
Mehidi Ben Barka
Felix Mourmie
in Amilcar Cabral
Murtala Muhammed
cut down
in the soil of Africa which
like some wanton slut
bleeds into its children's eyes
before devouring them
in the belly of the slave ships
in the plantations of Jamaica
in the mines of Ovamboland
in the factories of Abidjan
in the brothels of the one-eyed Cypriot

Spirit of Africa
move
become a blade
to excise from the land the scum
the filth the debris
to bleed from the unfeeling heart
pity and fear and illusion
to carve from out the rootless minds
the thoughts
unanchored in the destiny of
Africa.
Become a flame
Spirit of Africa
become a volcano of fire raining
brimstones
upon the heads of unbelievers
in the future of
Africa
become a furnace of violence
burnishing
the cradles of brass for
Heroes
who must arise from the ashes of
centuries of disillusion and enslavement

Spirit of Africa
resurrect
from your desecrated womb
the souls of heroes dead before their
time
Queen Jinja
Shaka Zulu
Amina Zazzau
Abdel Kadir
Samory Toure
Hojuya Henda
Malcolm X
Kwame Nkrumah
Martin Luther King Jr.
break open your steamy catafulges
freeing these firm of arms
to cleanse your altars of the pale sacrifice

Then will this endless sorrow cease
Then will the weary widows weep no
more
then will the shrouds be lifted from
the land
and mighty warriors strike
for joy
for glory for Africa.