Unwhitening The Blacksby Poetra Ama Asantewa
He sat in his 3-piece suit, cursing the gods because the air-conditioner wouldn’t boot.
She looked across the serving area and the smell of the food was sickening,
She thought momoni was disgusting all she wanted was fries and chicken.
She spanked her son for speaking the local dialect.
She’d told him several times that if he mastered the Queen’s language he would become exempt.
It is only in Africa that a man’s IQ is measured by how americanized he sounds; else he’s a John
It is not only on the stage that puppets are controlled, even behind curtains they are still pawns
They named their daughter Lovelace Clarissa
Of course! They felt it was way nicer than plain old Akua Boahemaa
A man returns from a year stay in the States, and you have to strain your ears before you hear him say “I never really liked korkor and beans, it makes my tummy act kinda funny”
Yet the same man stays in Russia for 3 years and you don’t have to hear him say “I hearrd yourr motherr was siick. I hope now sheez verry good and verry happy”
See,- we wear black skins, but we’ve painted our souls white
We’re good at a lot but we’re best at following trends, and we don’t realize that we’ve become objects of spite
We’ve created worlds which yields us no true self; we’re living a lie
We’re looking at ourselves through another’s eyes
We’re not Lauryn hill educated enough to know that our emancipation doesn’t fit into anybody else’s equation
And we’ve been unique way since creation
It is time we recognize that our being is too original,
Our lands too pure,
Our symphony too Hugh Masekela,
Our spirits too Mandela passionate,
Our traditions too Monalisa significant;
For us to be carbon copies of another’s culture.
We have to take our lives back and tap into the core.
Learn the ways of the old, you know, way before.
Rock our own made handiworks,
Practice over and over till be better what hardly works.
Grasp our culture as intently as an angry man would a flea,
For it is only then, can we be free.