Omama Kidash Eulogises Nkrumah on AU Day, and reechoes the Wedding of African States through Wording

African Poet, Omama Kidash, eulogises Ghana’s first president, Dr. Kwame Nkrumah, and replays the gramophone record of Nkrumah’s bigger vision of seeing Africans unite. Through poetry, Omama Kidash refreshes the reminder icon on the screen of the long awaited living dream of African Unity which has had great torch bearers like Marcus Garvey, Bob Marley, Muammar al-Gaddafi, and so many other giants.

A former teacher of Boso Senior High Technical School, Omama Kidash currently teaches Literature-in-English at the Pentecost Senior High School – Koforidua. He is a graduate of the University of Ghana, Legon, a member of the Ghana Association of Writers (GAW), and a GAW Literary Award winner.

Nkrumah:
The Past Future

From the fallible human well,
The bucket draws to quench,
And greatness speaks thus:
I am not African
Because I was born in Africa
But because Africa
Was born in me.

The Macbeth witches overseas oversee
Nkrumah in the seas overseas
Carrying a continent to a Canaan
He sees the witches overseas
And calls their names on Afadjato
Juju boiling in a voodoo pot overseas
The witches decree, Macbeth is pushed,
And tears wet the black soil
But functional laughter dances ballet
Beyond the seas overseas
Where jungle drums cannot reach

Nkrumah was buried once
Nkrumah was buried twice
Nkrumah was buried thrice
Yet, Nkrumah walks on global lips
And retires on memory tongues
He hoisted the golden flag
Of selfless service
And now they shine his back
On the shoulders of Mother Earth
His visionary tongue called for unity
While he pulled the chariots
Of the next century into the present
For developmental acceleration

He wasn’t a chit-chat over cold beer
In a lazy chair;
He wore the cloth of army ants
To plant and water for results
He was a man of words and works
Who carried the load of his continent
On his head and never looked back
The independence of Ghana is meaningless
Unless …
Will the great vision ever die?
Nkrumah never dies:
Addis Ababa.

Charcoal Dancer

I dance in the powdered charcoal
To bleach myself blacker
I dance in a trance to sip tree back
From the hands of the wise fathers:
Our fathers who were so clean
And kept excrement away from the home.

I am loamy and fertile:
We are the richest of all
The irony does not change the truth
I am dancing to bleach myself blacker
From my feet up
To wash my pale brain black
I dance the dance of our wise fathers
To make me whole again.

I dance to unleash my talent
To be remembered as the black one
My strength is not for the brainwash show
It is for the brain-act-growth.

I was charcoal on the cord of a coal
My mother is strong and courageous
She is an intellect pot and a builder
My mother is Zazzau’s Amina;
Daughter of Bakwa Turunku
I am the son of the Queen of Sheba
My mother is Amanishakheto of Nubia
She is Amanitore
Queen Nzinga of Angola bore me
I am the brave son of Tiye
My mother is Yaa Asantewaa the Powerful
I am the son of Akua Asamoah the Abondi:
The soldier girl from the royal home of Apirede

If you see me dancing under the moonlight
Do not be amazed by the billion black stars
Who hold hands to fortify me
I am my own future gathering to ascend
The words of the old seers are flowers
Smiling to fruit for the big feast of oneness
I dance blackness
I dance greatness
I dance humanity
I dance love

I was born an Egyptian
I was born a South African
I was born an Ethiopian
I was born a Ghanaian
I was born an African
I was born an African first, and everything
Else followed.

Black Power

I am an African
And I feel too proud to be
I am an African
And I feel too proud to remain so
I am an African
I come from the rich black soil:
The soil that formed mighty black men of old
The soil that made great women of distinction
Wash the feet of our continent with
Selfless love and sacrifice.
I am a proud African
I will never sell my identity to take another’s
I am beautiful, bold and black.
This is the land of my birth
And it shall certainly be the land of my
Ancestral breath
I am an African
And I am too proud to become anything else
Behold, the gathering of the Eagles is at hand

Gold Coast

I live in Gold Coast
Where we played oware with diamonds
And the children washed their hands in Akwatia,
Waving Aku Sika’s style on their way home.

When the first ship arrived,
My bente was stripped off
And I became Ota Benga
Taking selfies of the past time.

Now I am Kunta outside the net,
Walking free on a sandy shore.
My king is my kind
But Oliver still turns me in my sleep

Strangers are colouring our waters beyond treatment
Our cowries keep flying into white safes
Yet, we stand on the burning sun and say nothing
There is a mystery upon the silhouette

But this is a new dawn
It is time to ride our horses
Let’s shelf the clay beads and go for gold
As we create and build with love.
Africa!
Unite.

Facebook: Omama Kidash
Twitter: @OmamaKidash
Email: godwinkwasiasare@gmail.com