Bring out the drums; roll out the beats, the Gungun, the Barta, the Djembe, the Tama, the Gimbe, the djuns, the Kapalongo drums and Junjun drums. Beat them loud and clear, Africa!! beat the drums I say, make the noise, tell the world its our morning, we are arising, with beautiful colors and fine fertile soil, the sound of blackness is arisen and its loud and clear...we are coming out of obscurity... They came in the night, told us tails, gave us the mirror to see our nakedness then they went behind... took a replica of our nudity to the outside world in order to cause us shame, they showed the world our ignorance and stole our virginity. They raped us and left us there on the muddy floor of our hut naked, then they took our brothers and fathers away to a far away land, where we wouldn’t find them even if we trekked for miles.
As if that wasn’t enough, they came back, they realized that it was not just the people that made the land rich, then they came to plunder our soil, the beat our blackness until it yielded to them the secrets of our wealth, They took the one’s their ships could carry and left us for a time.As if that wasn’t enough they came back, this time with clothes, and fine gifts, better than the one’s we were first given, they gave us petty gifts and lofty promises in exchange for our lands and the water ways. Little did we know they were in search of black gold? They beat our ground again, this time vigorously until its blood gushed out, then they set shops and began to sell it to their brothers, “I wouldn’t lie they even sold some to us”.. laughs... when we revolted and complained about our dying fishes and our barren soil they called our leaders together... promised them wealth and gave them guns to kill us, they beat us again.
They beat us until the redness underneath our skin showed its face, they beat us until our soul refused to live, they said slave trade was over but it was a lie, they are taking slaves of our minds and telling us we are nothing. Laughs... if we are nothing, why do they draw our blood and in turn sell it to themselves as sweet drink? Why did they build the world by climbing on our backs? Laughs. I say bring out the drums; roll out the beats, the Gungun, the Barta, the Djembe, the Tama, the Gimbe, the djuns, the Kapalongo drums and Junjun drums. Beat them loud and clear, Africa!! beat the drums I say, make the noise, tell the world its our morning, we are arising, with beautiful colors and fine fetal soil, the sound of blackness is arisen and its loud and clear...we are coming out of obscurity... Tell me, did you see or at list hear of our big brother, who lived fifty sunshine yrs ago? I mean the son of Chineke, the semen of Olodumare, the flesh of Oghene! the one whose father was taken to the west to toil in the plantation, he woke up one day... he didn’t have a big drum and I guess because he wasn’t conceived on African soil he wouldn’t know what the gungun was; but his veins burned with the blood from afar... he didn’t have the big drums but he had a big mouth, a big heart and a super big dream.. He had a dream.... like Joseph, he had a dream that someday all will be equal and the servant shall someday be lord. he said someday the blackness of his skin would be inconsequential and all shall be judged on the basis of merit but they were afraid of him, I mean the people that raped us wouldn’t take him talking like that, so they woke up one day and put a dagga through his chest, thinking if he died his dream would die and his mouth would stop talking but they forgot that the blood flowed to the ground and through the earth until it touched the sole of the one in whose heart and self the dream would be fulfilled fifty years after, the son of the boy whom they gave handouts to many market days ago.
I say roll out the drums because my brothers big mouth and his big dreams has come to pass.. beat the drums louder, dance to the Maasai's beats, and the drum roll of the Zulus and Xkhosa, listen to the voice of reasoning from the talking drums of the yoruba's, enjoy the dance steps of the urhobo's and igbos and hum to the sound of the hausa’s, beat it at the cradle of civilization far in the north of black land, tell them with songs, tell them with the gong that its our morning and we rule the world, we rule the world now!! we make the most important decisions... and our morning has come... bring out the drums, roll out the beats, the gungun, the barta, the Djembe, the Tama, the Gimbe, the djuns, the Kapalongo drums and the junjun drums, beat them loud and clear, Africa!! Beat the drums, I say, make the noise, tell the world its our morning. Its out morning, the land of beautiful vegetations, fine soil, fertile mud and a sea of starvation, the land where gold is found and silver is in abundance, the land were platinum lives on its streets and uranium is scatted like the sands of the seas shores but poverty is as many as the seas and oceans, the land where oil flows and natural gas is in abundance but we still are white like the leper because we cant find some of that oil to be used as pomade, the land where it’s people work hard and have very little to eat.I beg you Oh carrier of the torch, Oh ruler of the great Lands, you have four market days, maybe eight. I beg you Oh Brother, Oh son of the Soil, as we role out the drums and the world dances to the rhythm of your reign, don’t forget your root, the son of my father, pls i beg you, help build your Father Land no matter how small.
