Two Inhuman Things that Plagued The African People's Culture: Gambian Literature and Publications

 Hello,
           Welcome to my blog! Good to see you here! Literary, the sun and I are pleased to offer you a warm welcome to the VOICE OF THE PEN.

 In this week's blog post, you're going to watch a brand new video on my Youtube channel. Do not foget to subscribe to my blog and Youtube channel.

 The fact that slavery and colonialism are two inhuman policies that plagued the African people's culture with indelible and irreparable consequences, is not a debatable issue. While reparations are being demanded by African nationalists from the Western European and United States of America, with  focus on labour, man power and socio-technological developments,be inspired watching my video that explains among others, the RAPED AFRICA TODAY that has suffered slavery and colonialism. Africa is rising a clarion call for self-sufficiency. Our rivers flood to their banks, we have resources in abundance to stop our beggars seen everyday in the streets. We are too united a continent to be divided by war and tribalism, we are rather to determine to repair the past with shared values of love, unity and forgiveness.

                                                              

With an unbreakable trunk of explicit respect for humanity, and a string of inexplicable confidence and trust for African integration for the Africa we want; I write this blog post to your kind attention in order to compensate you with inspiration and affection. My poem focus on giving incentives to Africans torn out of their self-reliance and dignity.

I'll be very selfish to shun your commitment in this seldom struggle for African integration, no matter how long it takes, now or later, with pain and sweat, surely, slowly... there shall be a UNITED STATES OF AFRICA!

Kindly click on this link to watch my video:


 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5WkH0lseLnM



 ( I love reading! Librarianship is not only my work and career, but it is something I love passionately because the world belongs to those who read.)

 See you next week Friday. Sweet kisses, Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe.


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My Grandma's Africa ( Poetry): Poems from The Gambia

A matchstick was burned centuries ago in Africa.
destroying the authenticity of our unbroken traditions
In the sonorous voices of colonial mountains
A family of Conakry bananas, mixed with plantains
Exploring the views of cultural villages in Lagos,
Stretched to the shores of Banjul,
Old women decry the mime of the wind.


Marching to Brikama Jamisa Forest,
held by an antidote of pain and poverty
received by a clan of grief and sighs:
The gems turned to stones, and our gold turned into boats.
Pale in the beauty of hallucination,
Our lands sustained blood
Purifying the ships full of peebles
spun to produce tales of African soups
Following the full-stop stop,


The fragments of African civilization broke.
with silken knitted Ivorian cottons
weaved by threads of Senegalese palm trees
Having been chewed and swallowed by the Mali Empire,
Roaming through bushes darker than dusk,
kept from the smell of corn and millet
They conquered our land and clans.
My grandmother's Africa remained silent.


The vowels of our culture are unsung.
From Yamoussoukro to Addis Ababa
We missed our hunters and bush meat.
Meeting at the junction of laughter,
We all laughed and laughed.
laughed, and just laughed!
Grandma sat on the palms of a tree, holding a kerosene lamp.
She gets an itch when she sees another religion approaching.
singing inside her eyes and ears
For the sounds of drums coming from the market
Merchants of sorrow produced clothes and tobacco.
To defame our horns and irons
Disrespected our gods,
destroyed our shrines, and changed us.


Having seen a gun and gunpowder,
a mirror, as well as herself in the mirror,
Grandma ran quickly inside her hut.
In terror, she sang me 1400 hymns.
Smelling rotten in her Fulani jewelry
Looking good in a tie and dye batik design
My 126-year-old grandma, laying on a mat,
Flipping out her traditional smartphone,
She slides through her gallery and opts for a selfie.
I burst out laughing.
Seeing a group of old women
Starting a group chat on WhatsApp
My grandma patted me on the back.
and asked, "Are we friends on Facebook?"


(Continue to REST IN PEACE, my beloved grandmother. I got my inspiration to write this poem by looking at my late grandma's picture)