My Story Poem by muideen olawale jimoh

Let me introduce myself

My name is Aderanti Fasasi

Decades ago, I was just twelve,

But now I can barely see,



The skin on my body taut like overstretched leather,

What a nice talking drum it would make,

Because only it can tell this story better,

Cos on it, is a clear portrait of my hurt and ache



The last thing I recall was his eyes,

Bloodshot, fiery and his large barreled chest

He sold our future for a prize,

2 thin cows and a fake golden crest.



He stole me away in the depth of the night

Despite the wailings and pleas of my folks,

To a land farthest away from their sight

Bounded in chains and locks,



I woke up to find myself in God’s own country

In a mine embedded in the core of the earth,

Where days seem like centuries,

As we toiled in magma’s depth,



Black pearls became prisoners,

Slaves to the white man’s whip

Through agonizing days in midsummer

And the pain from our clamped lips,



Drilled and clamped with a key,

To avoid us stealing their precious stones

We fed on a slice of bread and 2 drops of tea

Food didn’t do it, hunger toughened our bones



And for years we hustled

Their offsprings beget by our sisters

Sisters in the same struggle,

Raped and depraved, their soul is blistered



And oh yes, we had off springs too,

By strong black women, who saw us as the future,

The future of Africa ’s history and its glory too,

They say, they will never abandon their culture,



Alliance between slaves

Was an invitation to terror,

We met in secret hollow caves

Amidst fear and impending horror,



The shot rang in the air

And then a loud thud followed

We all stood and stared

As our shot comrade stumbled below,



Shot by James Barret,

For taking a nap on duty,

That was the justice of the bullet

Stainless steel, filled with horror, filled with beauty,



Every other day, we lost a brother or sister

Either from the sting of the whip

Or from ageing bones to the cold in winter,

Or from been thrown out of a moving ship



Not a word from home,

Since home existed only in my young memory

I was on my own, but not alone,

Blacks everywhere in the world are a colony,



Like roaring thunder,

Our lives was a nightmare,

Controlled by the whip and gunpowder

We lived in constant pain and fear



I toured the world

Not on vacations leave

But as a single word

“Slave”.



Freedom was a distant dream,

Some believed it, some think it sucks,

But I coated mine with cream

And rubbed it on my conscience till it stuck



We are black

And we were slaves

Now we are back

And I’ve been saved



Let me introduce myself once more

My name is Gerrald Lawson,

I lost my identity in Singapore,

But I’m proud to be Africa ’s son.