Letters to Africans
By Leon Tuam
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Leon Tuam
Leon Tuam was born in a country that he loves to call one of the African provinces, Cameroon. He has livee in exile since 1993.
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Letters to Africans - Leon Tuam
AuthorHouse™
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Bloomington, IN 47403
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Phone: 1-800-839-8640
© 2012 by Leon Tuam. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means
without the written permission of the author.
Published by AuthorHouse 06/15/2012
ISBN: 978-1-4772-1694-1 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4772-1695-8 (ebk)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2012910331
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used for illustrative purposes only.
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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may
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hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
CONTENTS
Native nest
African Golgothas
Ah, what about us?
Africa, O my dearest place of birth,
We, the people
He is called Suffering
Hypocritically
I found the answer
Strange African eyes
The best and the worst places
The scissors
The people’s future
O Africa
Our African leaders
I am the father
African families
They fail to lift Africa up
The future of our people
Role’s change
Our gorgeous House
Wealthy empty countries
The African marriages
The hooks to fish us
Mines discovery
The underwear of developed
countries
If we fall down
In that blue vampiric shell
Dark broody hen
We cry, they cry
Tremblingly
We can’t wait for God
About my dances, my clothes
The bloodthirsty angels
This piece of shame
Living abroad
We must not love the pain
Because of it
Mighty law
Greedy officials
The future of the world
They never get the right thing
If only I could call back the time
The more we talk peace
Water hole
Young men
Dominated Africa
Ineffaceable scars
We are not lazy
The hunters
Africans again
Learn to be ready
Lost children
Where was the world, where is the world?
Colonization and slavery
Lions and cheetahs
Arms to the sky
The day I felt unsafe
Many doors
Africa, don’t let me think
Africans, God created us
Victims of democracy
Many bleats
Mosquitoes, mosquitoes!
Heart, heart
Africans, Africans, look!
The good and the evil
In the doomed days
They say it
Broken-wings-pelican
If I were an African politician
Our lands
We wait patiently
Foreigners, visit Africa
Like the ancient Egypt
We vote them
Song of tomorrow
The foreign tools
A message to the world
DEDICACE
For the humiliated people of dignity of Africa.
Native nest
I lived on my native Nest and strongly
I believed in the benefits of goodness,
I believed in the benefits of peaceful words.
I tearfully left my native Nest,
Crossed the Atlantic Ocean and strongly
I believed in the benefits of goodness,
I believed in the benefits of peaceful words.
But when I turned back and saw heavy guns
Silence the lives of thousands of mouths,
When I saw bombs and created poverty,
Hunger and diseases silence children,
Silence adults,
Silence elders,
Silence our villages, streets and cities,
I met on my way some words
That I never dreamed of.
I looked at them and they smiled at me.
They talked to me,
They told me that they were the true friends,
I hesitated to pay attention to them,
They touched me and showed seriousness,
They told me that from that time
They were my best friends;
I found them helpful,
I found them precious.
Compared to the bombs,
Compared to the created diseases,
Those words were nothing.
I bent,
I collected and
I started using them profusely,
To stone the night, to stone and
Stone the night, the African night.
African Golgothas
Africans,
We have walked many paths of suffering,
We have walked many roads of contempt,
We have walked many boulevards of divisions,
We have walked many streets of destabilizations,
Walked many highways of humiliations,
Walked those of frustrations and discriminations,
And walked those of wrong negotiations and peace,
Wondering when we will see their ends;
Sufferings spring out of our faces
Like an army of worms from dry carrions
Which are tickled by a heavy rain.
Golgotha, Golgotha, African Golgotha!
Golgotha, we climb you,
And once at your peak,
Another Golgotha calmly awaits us;
We climb it and at its peak,
We hear a strong call and as we look,
We discover another Golgotha
That is taller and bigger than the previous ones.
Golgotha, Golgotha, African Golgotha!
Black nights, deep African long nights!
Everlasting deep nights!
Ah, how many Golgothas?
How many, how many Golgothas
Are here on earth for us?
How can we know? How should we know?
Sad, angry, tired: we have kept going,
And reaching the dead-ends of these ordeals,
We have gone beyond them; far beyond
And walked, walked and walked.
Golgotha, Golgotha, African Golgotha!
Africans, black people: Aren’t we peculiar?
Ah, what about us?
Ah, what about us?
Some people have a season of sadness,
Then come the seasons of happiness.
Some people have a season of rottenness,
Then come the seasons of flowers.
What about us?
Africans, what about us?
The news from our rural areas is sad.
The news from our towns and cities is sad.
The news from the hills is sad.
The news from the plains and waters is sad.
The news from the forests is sad.
The news from the savannahs is sad.
After rain and deluge takes root a good life.
Africans, what about us?
Africans,
Sadness on everything and everybody falls,
Feeds, plays, sings; and cedes its seat to joy.
Africans, what about us?
The sky turns blue,
The good weather bespatters people with laughter,
New lives spring out and abound around,
Rivers, brooks, lakes with their offsprings
Sing to the world;
Plants wear exuberant clean clothes,
Flowers blossom and fall down never to die,
The leaves’ executioners of the previous season
Have turned into angels
And are getting drunk on the flowers,
Competing with the honey’s brewers;
Feathered friends in the new clothes are busy
With songs that put more heat
In the trees, in the air;
The breeding moment is a fascinating time
In the life of the creatures in the nature;
Season of abundance! Season of peace!
Season, season of happiness!
Africans, what about us?
Sadness on everything and everybody falls,
Feeds, plays, sings; and goes away;
Then comes peace,
Then comes