In Africa Speaks, the continent is envisioned as a woman who by turns asserts her resilience, mimics First World indifference, depicts stoically her rape, mocks the values of that same First World, and in the end declares with noble dignity her will to survive.

AFRICA SPEAKS

Hey, I’m the wind, I can move the sands.
So what the hell, no problem for me
To bear your lies and promises, too,
Always broken, always the same old lies.

Give me a break! It’s not the Third World War,
Just another local spat,
(Yet people die for it every blessed day
From the high plateau to the shining sea.)

Hey, what kind of show is this to give us
In the middle of Sunday dinner?
Let’s switch to another channel, Mother,
Pass me the gravy and the TV Guide.

(Now I lay me down to sleep)

The sun the source of life? Ha! Tell me another!
As I crumble like the cracked earth under me.
And yet the sky above me is still pure.
You’ve failed to blot it out with your putrid veil.

Just take your filthy hands from me.
Here I’ve lived, here I’ll die, here I’ll stay.
I know damn well what you want from me.
Help yourself—and, Amen.

Quick, a furtive glance, no one’s looking.
Once again, no witnesses, no one to blab.
Stuffed to the gills, bloated with your gluttony,
Run to your hole, you’ll be safe.

(Now I lay me down to sleep)

Out of the shower, into the subway,
The daily seesaw of the Stock Exchange—
“Upstairs everyone for the daily dressing down.”
Business as usual—ah, life in the jungle!

(Now I lay me down to sleep)

I’ve borne the world since the dawn of time,
Sucked at, with lips and teeth.
Here you were, also, but you don’t remember.
Gone adrift—but your continent, too.

Blood red like this, my body,
I see my land—my God! How beautiful!
Don’t say another word, just one left,
Always and forever after, one word—Africa.