In those days
When civilization kicked us in the face
When holy water slapped our cringing brows
The vultures built in the shadow of their talons
The bloodstained monument of tutelage
In those days
There was painful laughter on the metallic hell of the roads
And the monotonous rhythm of the paternoster
Drowned the howling on the plantations
O the bitter memories of extorted kisses
Of promises broken at the point of a gun
Of foreigners who did not seem human
You who knew all the books but knew not love
Nor our hands which fertilze the womb of the earth
Hands instinct at the root with revolt
In spit of your songs of pride in the charnel-houses
In spite of the desolate villages of Africa torn apart
Hope lived in us like a citadel
And from Swaziland's mines to the sweltering sweat of Europe's
factories
Spring will be reborn under our bright steps.
DAVID DIOP |
This poem presents us with vivid images of Africa's colonial experience and European control of Africa, under the pretext of a civilizing mission. It can also be closely allied to the work of the Christian missionaries in converting Africa to a religion which demands humility. Although intellectuals as they claimed, their heart is devoid of love. But with all the harsh treatments given to Africa, the poet still sees hope or light after the dark tunnel.