Born in Africa

I was born in Africa, the name they gave my land I was called.
To till the lands my fathers gave me
Not to toil in the baking sun that they so much feared
I am the produce of the land - born in the loin of a warrior
I am the son, his name was Elemeso

Several moons I left my land
Tears, fear ceaselessly flow
Dreams, desires aptly drive
A new world, across several rivers
A place I knew from afar - a land I was called an alien.

What now happens to my generations?
Will they be called by the name they gave my land?
Or the name of the foreign land - Their new land?
Speak in the tongues of my fathers or poetry of this new world?


Will my daughter hums to deep knowledge of Ijala?
Or to the staccato of hip-hop?
Will she ever bath in the cascading torrential downpour?
Or speak in the tone of Ewi?
I wish I know, I wish I can say.