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.