A long way gone; Memoirs of a boy soldier - Ishmael Beah

Imagine you were a little boy in some distant African country where the sun seems to kiss the earth and nature speaks in subtle tunes. You have always anticipated what it would look like to grow up in such a serene atmosphere when all of a sudden, war broke out between some factions in the society and you watch as your loved ones were butchered mercilessly like animals by some ruthless soilders. Against your wish, you were forced to enlist into the army and ever since then, all you have ever known is blood, war and death!
What future awaits the blood sucking animal that this once innocent African boy has been turned into?
Here is a review on a book titled, "A long way gone; Memoirs of a boy soldier - Ishmael Beah". A must read for every lover of the African art!



A captivating story of a young boy caught up in the Sierra Leone Civil War whose childhood suddenly changed in a dramatic and horrific manner from that of a young boy full of hopes and dreams to that of a boy soldier bred by an army of sociopathic and unruly rebel armed forces. He later finds redemtion at a rehabilitation camp funded by UNICEF and other NGOs which is where some hope of a normal life was restored until another way riddled the nation sending Ishmael Beah and his family on a flight for safety to the US where he now resides.


Here is a response sent by FREDRICK PASCAL MWAMBANDA on September 15th, 2007 at 1:00am.


This story is very touching and should serve as source of inspiration to the current africa continental leaders, to detest from using any means of violence to resolve their domestic differences.Our cultural diversity should instead solidify and strengthen us, since it shows our very rich history that has been enjoyed by our forefathers.If i may quote a swahili saying that goes; ‘the one who departs from his/her tradition is a slave’ rigtfully portrays how important our diverse culture is important to our identity.
The greed for power is one of the major causes of civil war, and the people who suffer most are children and mothers.These are the main elements of a family, and the family is the nucleus or core of the society.It can therefore easily be demonstrated that the repurcersion of a broken family set up will eventually disturbalise the society and the nation at large thanks to Ishmael Beah.

yours truly

Fred Mwambanda

Women are African's Hope

I stumbled across this very short but witty piece while surfing the web about current events in Africa. I think this presents a very good perspective from which the African woman can be percieved.

"As I rested under a tree at midday a woman passed by, coming from nowhere and seemingly going nowhere. She walked past in silence. I mumbled 'Hello" in Kiswahili. Still walking with the weight of a bundle of wood on her head she turned effortlessly, almost gracefully and smiled.

'Jambo', she replied, acknowledging our presence. My thoughts turned to the heavy burdens so many African women carry, yet there is always the smile, the optimism and the hope.

Yes, the women keep this country going. As the men go to war or to drink or to work in towns far away, it is the women who carry the burden of home life. They will carry Africa into a hope-filled future.

Fr. Anthony Chantry MHM

Culled from this web page

A LETTER TO MY BELOVED!

My beloved Africa,

On this path - this pain frosted path, laced with thorns that buries themselves deep into my flesh. On this ancient path where some have found true happiness and others lay shattered and battered and above all, heartbroken! It is on this same path, I found myself!

But my heart lingers on, taking each giant stride, one after the other. Knowing that in due course, I will experience true happiness.

But let me lay to rest my pilgrim's progress and relish in the flow of the moment. For I speak in this manner because I am not in doubt of the intellectual bountifulness of your children and I relate with you, not as with others but as would Lovers; for you and I alone know what we share.

I have graduated!

It meant nothing to me because I have waited for what seemed like eternity for it. But this morning, as I scribble this emotional piece, it is beginning to mean so much to me. It means so much to me now because I have just realized that what appears to have been an obstacle to our being together has just been subdued!

The journey so far has been rough and tough. For four years, I have laboured like my other black brothers and sisters, to distinguish myself in the gathering of men. Pursuing knowledge with all tenacity and putting all I have into it. Like Paul - the apostle, I can affirm, "I have fought the good fight of faith" - but in this case, it is a fight for survival! A fight of destiny!

I watched myself mature in character, strength, Passion and in age, over the years. I watched as my pen took upon itself a personality of its own. Graduating from prosaic writing to an elevated use of words laced with symbolic connotations and heightened poetic prosody. But as much as I relish in the rhapsody of my maturity, I still keep wondering and pondering why I don't seem to look my age! I often have to convince people of my age because according to them, I look younger than my age. Should I rejoice or be sad? I am confused!

Africa - my beloved, I have missed you in the real essence of the word "MISSED". I have tried so hard over the past few months, to wash away those lofty thoughts about you from my heart but I have met with no success! Sometimes, in the stillness of my room, when nature has gone to rest and the distant whistling of the Cricket can be heard far into the dark and still night, I cry! I cried because I love you!

I bemoan how two lovers could have been so alienated from each other for this long! I bemoan the distance that my quest for education has placed between us! I bemoan your silence, which is evident in the stillness of the evening moon during one of those long and boring nights when loneliness cast its spell on me!
I don't know what this means to you but against all odds, I have come thus far to say, "Nothing has changed about how I feel about you".

I have heard of how you have been negatively painted in the international media. I have heard of the brutal treatment meted to your children all over the globe. They have described your land as a home to corrupt practices and a den for criminals. This they have done to tarnish your image. But their lies have been revealed by those who have tasted of your lavished hospitality and bountiful harvest of natural and human resources! Be that as it may, my love for you Africa, will remain untainted with age!

The pains are only there to remind us of the sacrifices that went into bringing us together nevertheless, I see a future of bliss ahead for us. I HAVE MISSED YOU MY BELOVED AFRICA!

I have been gone for a while…

*“The firewood of this world is for only those who can take heart, that is why not all can gather it…” (Songs of sorrow – Kofi Awoonor)

I have been gone for a while, adrift in life’s frightful tides: sometimes to float, sometimes to sink, but my purpose holds, to find answers to man’s meandering destiny. “I have been somewhere, if I turn here the rain beats me, if I turn there, the sun burns me. The firewood of this world is for only those who can take heart, that is why not all can gather it”. The cries of distant Africans who waste away in a sea of bequeathed hunger, the discomfort of the voiceless African child whose rights have been trampled upon by careless and insensitive mothers whose concern lies predominantly in gratifying their selfish whorish interest! They have eaten their piece of meat, yet they scramble for ours!

I have been gone for a while, basking in the euphoria of a successful ‘selection’ process which Nigerians called election, hoping that this new era would bring with it something better. I have been gone for a while but my wandering heart has not ceased to question the irony of nature’s prejudice to the black skinned which is a sort of benediction to our white skin brothers – “I am on the worlds extreme corner. I am not sitting in the row with the eminent. But those who are lucky sit in the middle and forget!”, Yet humanity teaches that we are all equal!

I have been gone for a while, uncertain of the silver lining of the dark clouds of political rain that has gathered; the virulent storm of religious and ethnic violence which has been rocking the nation in different quarters; the volatile state of affairs in the Niger Delta region of the country and the incessant cases of kidnapping and abduction which has rocked the nation for years and has caused us disrepute in the international scene; from these national maladies, I have sought a retreat! But, for how long? “I have wandered on the wilderness – the great wilderness men call life. The rain has beaten me and the sharp stumps cut as keen as knives (but must) I go beyond and rest?”

For how long can we shy away from the harsh reality that stares our nation in the face? For how long can we live with this escapist ideology when each time we make a come back from our reveries, our troubles have been doubled! The affairs of this world are like the chameleon faeces into which I have stepped, when I clean it, it cannot go”. Our child is 47 years old, yet we still spoon feed him! When will that child learn to be self-dependent?

This pen will never cease to lend a voice to the voiceless pleas of Africans, far and near! For someday, we will embrace true democracy and liberty if not absolute equality! For let not our voice raise a song of sorrow for this great continent – Africa and our great country, Nigeria!

Dusk

The ageless sun sets
Explodes millions of tiny fragments
Littering the ancient sky
With balls of light so high

Against this background
Nature rest so profound
In drifting drowsiness I hear
The eloquence of silence in the air

Familiar Friend

*This is a poem written as a reaction to the death of the Lagos state Governorship aspirant, Engineer Funsho Williams, who was brutally murdered in his bedroom. When will Nigerians and Africans at large, learn to practise politics without bitterness?





What gloom haunts the air?
what frail mortal limbs lay?
once brimming with life so bright
now, whisked off in the cruel winds
and served in a casket on earth's table
for famished worms to feast on
as the sun mourns in deep melancholy

What beastly creature art thou
that prowls man's earthly habitation?
disguised as a familiar friend?
your morbid ambition, executed with a smile,
you cease the bread of starving lads!

O murderer! where lies your gains,
for those hearts you feed with pains?
homes, you plunge to sorrow
and flood with fiery fury
burning in their once timid heart

For this destiny you abort too soon,
awaits you on the other side!
for know this O murderer,
that man is the grave's meat!

Shiloh's Supplication

Heaven must have you favoured
to release its fairest maid in such grace
for Artemis seed, we long laboured
with ceaseless devotion to hold Natal's mace

Heaven with speed now granted
Shiloh's supplication, like a sapphire garment worn
to celebrate motherhood. Heaven again voiced,

"for unto you , a child is born,
and unto you a treasure is given"

The starless night embraces a new dawn!

Home-Coming

The drums rolls again,
rumblings all over the land
breaking earth's nocturnal silence
with a rhythm of royalty

Ancestral nobles turn in their grave's bed
for such a rhythm is heard but once
to usher in some nobled minded fellow
for such is the rite

Children with faces plagued with hunger
peered through reed fences
their eyes glow with excitement
as they unfold the mystery behind the rumblings

The village spectators all gathered
written on their faces, a glimmer of hope
for they have waited so long for one of theirs,
once lost but now, found.

welcome home!

The Unborn Child

Tired eyes wink
As stifled dreams blink
And muzzled foetus battles

Fragile uterine wall quivers
disturbed creature quibbles
as alien object approaches

Broken chords snap
Sprawled placenta hangs
Sacred Adam, rendered homeless

His Eden desecrated
Stripped of his innocence
Virginal nakedness revealed

With one last breath
He voicelessly cried
‘I wish I was born’

His death, her pride
Tender flames, snuffed too soon
Tender seed, never to sprout!






*Below are comments that I received on this poem when it was first published on allpoetry.com. I just thought you might want to read them.

Comments
1 - 8 of 8

Vickie J
July 23
You had me close to tears on this one. I know this is such a touchy issue in today's world-but for the life of me, I will never be able to agree that it is right to steal an innocent child's life from him/her while they are in a place that should be their safe haven. I've seen too many films showing abortions in the process to be told that they don't suffer. Their skin is so thin and fragile-raw nerves unprotected-tell me yanking them apart limb by limb doesn't hurt-tell them, "this hurts me more than it hurts you"-God forgive us for the sins against the unborn who are very much alive.

I applaud this outstanding and moving write~vj

babyalah
July 23
As much as I would have loved to have read this, I couldn't as it was starting to bring back those memories that I don't want. I know what it feels like to lose a child before life has started.
Welcome to the site
Dawn

galfalfa
July 23
A very sad powerful and well worded piece here ...suits your picture choice well. Thanks for entering our contest

galfalfa

Abscessed
July 24
Oh this was absolutely phenomenal and I completely agree with your train of thought! I thought you did just a wonderful job conveying across just an important message - and the way you worded this piece was absolutely touching and brilliant!
Thank you for following the rules and entering the contest
I wish you luck and welcome you to All Poetry!

abscessed


sunny day
July 26
Very well written!!!!!
This was a very powerful piece that raises the age old issue of prolife or prochoice. I don't like to be involved in that battle at all. You did a marvelous job with your take on this. Joyce

Sharcu
July 29
A very powerful poem that you expressed your views well. I too am a pro-life person and wonder why someone would ever want to abort such an innocent life. Well thought out poem! Good luck and welcome to AP
--Tim

Damselflydreams
August 14
This was both graphic and philosophical. Lots of amazing metaphors and references. Anchored in your message like the child anchored in the womb before being removed. Best of luck.
Rayne Maker

August 14
Your words are so powerful, and so dark. I love the metaphor you used in this poem. It's a great write.

Dance of Innocence

The past like a raving wave
beats incessantly on the mind's bank
nagging thoughts from yesterday's grave,
lay siege of our anticipated tomorrow

tethered dreams, hopelessly battle
every battle, a web is spun
until we are fettered over again
by those thoughtless webs, we spun!

Who says innocence is a vice?
Let him probe the guiltless stare of babies
who giggle playfully at mother's painful writhe
after biting so hard on her tender tits!

yet, mothers still curdle them close to her heart
knowing that moment of ignorance must be forgiven
for such guiltless acts in innocence,
are the greatest show of love.

for our yesterday lurks in the corner,
waiting to snatch every moment of happiness.
when we look, we find emptiness
but the past is that trailing shadow,
that walks life's mile with us

Therefore, roll out on life's dance floor
and let us partake in the dance of innocence!
for we worry for tomorrow's music
that never may be heard
while today's rhythm waste away
and none to embrace it!

Maiden No More

She prides in the robe of innocence
Hanging down voluptuous frames
That pokes at virility
But to remain veiled
Her immortal task
For in such mask
Lies the masquerade’s pride

She the prey of distant poachers
That prowls the forest
Partitioned among themselves like coat of colours
In morbid curiousity they lust
For several moons they were lost
Fizzled in the African sun
Their treasure, her veiled nakedness

For when they found her
Wrapped in glaring innocence
A gift of lust to present
coated in colours of love
for what is love?
and what maketh lust?
the soul is the essence
the presence gratifies that sense

And with that coital resolution
once advanced to a climax
with bellows of passion
began as a glow so tender,
he treads the intricate
devoid of delicate desires
with un-bearing clamouring
rather spurred by sinful sense
he sends forth liquid mortals
leaving the ‘man below’ limb
exorcised of his emotional frailty
a glimmer in his eyes

They left us…………….
their morbid curiosity gratified
but in our heart, a wound
the African sun, never can heal

We die No More!

Tell the waiting vultures
that prowl the streets of Africa,
preying on the remains of our brothers
yanking their lifeless limbs apart!

Taking refuge in my silhouette
trailing behind wounded children,
waiting till our last breath is drawn,
and a human dinner is declared ready!

But tell the waiting vultures
that no more carcasses will litter the streets.
Our continent, no more a grave yard
where dreams are murdered, yet unborn
and visions stifled, still in its bud!

End of the World

I peered through my imagination
with eyes that could in dreams tell
of a world devoid of destruction
inscribed in my heart forever

My lonely brush dances on the smooth canvas
with each patten rippling crest after crest
until my imagination blazes a trail
a rebirth of serenity!

The moon speaks in bright palette
a language only spoken in tranquil climes
the leaves opens-up to the sun's warm embrace
a rebirth of nature!

For when this world rolls away
and our pains erased from memory lanes
then shall our long lost dream come alive
the end of the world,

... the beginning of a new world!

The African dream

Bloated bellied breeds of coloured race;
spindly, dangling frames for support;
eyes deeply sunken with no mist of hope,
laced with lashes of hunger

These are my kindreds --
frail buds of the giant Iroko tree
that fosters the tropic African forest;
now hewn down and left to rot.

Children butchered in parent-less homes
where papa nurtures aborted dreams.
Forcefully enlisted to war
against fellow brothers;
mama lays still, in a pool of blood,
sacrificed for our wishful tomorrows.

We roam the streets of Africa,
no longer terrified by death's mournful knell:
for our death lies in us
the mystery of our empty bloated bellies.

Yet, we will survive
amidst the incessant threats of penury
and the rumblings of infirmity
from one vicious cycle to another.

We wear a face, naked with hunger
and resigned to forlorn feast.
When in some distant continents,
children have enough to eat and throw away
yet, we will survive!

Tell the waiting vultures
that prowl the streets of Africa,
preying on the remains of our brothers
yanking their lifeless limbs apart, NO MORE!

Taking refuge in my silhouette
trailing behind wounded children,
waiting till their last breath is drawn,
and a human dinner is declared ready!

But tell the waiting vultures
that no more carcasses will litter the streets.
Our continent, no more a grave yard
where dreams are murdered, yet unborn
and visions stifled, still in its bud!

For our sun will rise again,
and our earth will bud,
adorned in the colours of nature.
Our barns will burst in abundance;
we will speak one language, one word, PEACE

This is the African dream.
The cause for which our fathers died.
The cause for which we WILL live!

Silent Soliloquy (Is black beautiful?)

Alive, though dead!
for though dead, yet i am alive!
accused and accursed
I am caged eternally!

Free, yet prisoned
though prisoned, yet I am free
to walk within the space
restricted by the fetters of penury!

Tethered to a stake
I can only wish for sleep
to sleep, to die
for to die, to rest eternally
from the cruel lashes of pestilence!

For if black is beautiful,
why do i suffer such shame?
and grope in endless darkness?

The traveler's gift

Navigating love’s thoughtless paths,
Like the palace fool over again.
Searching secret sanctuaries of sacred hearts,
But getting less than I bagain’d

I have stumbled on different breeds,
Of fragile mortals who spew venom
Desecrating love’s sacred creeds
For such is their norm.

Now the traveler is back,
And my travailed heart sings
For a love returned in flapping wings
But my heart, to hack!

The fragile arm of waiting lad
Outstretched with hopes for a return gift
A sinking heart to give a lift
But you chose to make them sad

You are back
With treasures on my feet, lain
Wrapped in a lurid gift of pain
My heart to crack!