Baba Afrika

I am made for sweat,

Toil is my life.

The break of day my call.

Twilight finds my back bent over the crops.


The savannah, my playground

My sinewy legs straddle the brush.

The hunt hugs my shoulders,

The hyenas know my scent, they slunk away.


A dozen.

More than a dozen adoring eyes,

Randomly around the open fire,

Hail my entrance.

The fire that drives me,

Their full bellies and happy chottles, my mission


Little faces in my calloused hands,

A promise to propagate,

Earnest voices call ‘our Baba’.

My chest swells like a frog’s,

My mission spelled out,

Give my feet a lilt.


My fold’s full of rowing,

My heart bursts with pride,

Fields spanning beyond horizon,

Tomorrow is full of promise.


My crown, Mama Afrika.

Overflowing with milk,

The young are well fed.

Her laughter, her bellyful laughter……

For her I’ll haul down Kilimanjaro.


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This poem pays tribute to the efforts that fathers in Afrika put to provide for their families despite dire scarcity in some instances. It kind of throws us back in time to when they had to comb through the savannah to bring home a hunt. Their dedication to family, pride in their children and work shines through. Look at how they feel about their queens! Sweet.

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