South African Drums Poem by Alf Hutchison

South African Drums

Do you hear those drums my boy, asked a father of his son,
They are the drums of Chaka, gathering each and every one;
Hear those xenophobic drums, beating deep within your soul;
Beating for us blacks umfaan, for foreigner’s bell to toll.

They are beating for us blacks, my son, to answer to the call.
It is time for all the foreigners, either bold or great or small,
To finally pay the price, for the ‘evil’ they have done,
Neither shall we rest at night… until there is not one.

No, not one of them left alive, in our ancestral land,
Their blood flows warm and crimson, like Kalahari sand.
We have no care for others, nor matter what they think,
We have to rid our hallowed land of their repugnant stink.

Foreigners took from us a bitter land, to turn it into honey,
They took from us our bartering; introduced us to their money.
Doctors healed us with their medicines; but not Sangomos way
They preached of one called Jesus Christ…to Him we aught to pray

They made a vow upon this soil; they will not turn a sod,
Until they have built a church, to honor their great God,
Their God is not ancestral… we mock, He has no power;
Fetch my assegai, and my shield: its now their final hour.

Our ancestral god ‘nkosi’, by Sangomos we are told,
Made us fearless warriors, steadfast, strong and bold
So fetch my faithful spear umfaan, dip it in the blood,
Time to wipe out all of them; White chewers of the cud.

Bulala! Bulala! Kill them every man, his wife and child;
Kill, kill my ebony son, the strong, the meek and mild.
Hold well your spear and your shield, hold them high aloft,
Fill your empty spirit son, upon the blood we’ve quaffed.

Then our ancestral god ‘nkosi’…at the setting of life’s sun,
Will reward us for each foreigner; having left alive not one.
We then shall bask and hunt again, with bow, stone axe and club,
Whilst the ‘evil’ the foreigners brought…returns to virgin scrub.
Alf Hutchison