This Africa was mine

This Africa was mine,

This Africa was mine.

This Africa was mine,

before you crossed my line.

This Africa was mine,

before you came to dine.

This Africa was mine,

before you brought your wine,

This Africa was mine,

before you broke my spine.

This Africa was mine,

before you burnt my shrine.

This Africa was mine,

before you stole my mine.

This Africa was mine,

before you snatched my vine.

This Africa was mine,

before you lumbered my pine.

This Africa was mine,

before you killed my swine.

This Africa was mine,

before you planted your mine.

This Africa was mine,

before you reduced me to a porcupine.

This Africa was mine,

Yes, this Africa was mine.

 

NB: The persona, an African, complains about the pain that the developed countries of Europe and Asia have inflicted on Africa. The pain is too much such that the continent been forced to resort to  the use of basic survival strategies like a porcupine. And indeed like the nocturnal African porcupine, Africa is rarely involved in international decision making. The poem navigates one through European voyages of discovery, slave trade, missionary activities, colonialism and neo-colonialism.