Scavengers? Poem by DOMINIC PREMPEH

The ancestral shrine of old was burnt to ashes
And the mouthpiece of our long cherished gods harassed before us
Our gods would act within seven days, and strike any evil intruder, we believed
But, by thence, all of us are slaves
For koofiri, ankamade3, brekese and kokooto, our gods
Will all be disintegrated and reintegrated to where they came from, the soil

We're lined up from the weakest man to the toughest woman
Like the African python from a bird's eye
Once in a while a wretched voice would bring out a tune
And we would sing in low tones a-fear of raising our captor's fury
And we sang dirges not for our departed brethren but for our soon-to-perish souls
And tunes that just refreshed our souls and strengthened our broken bond

The beautiful African femininity we adored and worshipped
And highly worked as farmers, hunters or warriors to betrothed to some day
And the womanhood we only see and touch
Only when bride rites were fully done
Was just a playing tool for our captor's untamed libido
Taking, tasting and wasting our women in turns like dogmatic Christians lined up for communion

Black souls withered like bare sands scattered in a whirlwind
And their bloods soaked the sands like torrent falls in a rainy day
With insects enjoying the rotten bodies of once cherished souls of friends and family
We were captured, individually or in a group
In raids often times led by our own skin type
The God-forsaken and perpetually cursed skin-type raiders

We sometimes rebelled, avail-less
For we fought with bows and arrows, clubs and sticks, brawl and fists
And he attacked with sophisticated sticks, stationed on the chest
That emitted noise, fire and later smoke; with just a press of a little nub
And plentiful of us would instantly fall and kiss death
Like rehearsing for a plague-infested country movie

Our hands and legs were activity-less
For they were in chains like cows heading for the slaughter
Moonlight evenings were devoid of our African plays and story telling
And our manhood never erected; they became just pissing tools
He made us ‘manimals', burrowing the earth and kissing harshness
All, we endured

Freedom brought nothing but a new master
A master from us, within, our own and our blood
A master who was once part of the emancipation struggle
A master who was once in prison with us for fighting for our land
A master we all help to reach the top and help us afloat with him
And a master we trusted so much

The master has become worse than the colonizer
A thief, a slayer, a liar, a chameleon and a devil we call a master
We still are slaves in our supposedly-emancipated world with our own blood leading us
Living in cottages; hunting and gathering for the rich few; directed by the former master
And this always leaves one question in my mind
How did God create the African; Scavengers?

(Dec.2014, Labadi)