Village boy Impressions

What agony to listen to the news in Ghana  What torment to hear the uneducated literates babble!  Televised news turns food into ash in my mouth.  Prejudiced narratives that only show the north,  As a people most incomprehensible; Skeletal mothers with drooping dry breasts,  Babies strapped with tattered rags to aching backs,  The distended bellies of bony orphans,  The starved faces of scruffy toddlers,  Desperate youth trooping out to survive,  People slaughtered  in senseless wars,  Forests razed to the ground, Poverty, hunger, disease, death.  So has the West defined and cursed Africa: One country, one people, one story And so we do to ourselves now. Have you Read:  Village Boy Impressions - The Joys of Mother Africa   Ghana, are you so gullible? To be so bogged down With such naivety,   Such thoughtless generalizations , Such vulgar labelling, Such single stories; That the whole north is but a village, Is too hot and far away, That ‘northerner’ must be a tribe, Unable to speak for

“6th of March! March!  Nineteen fifty-seven, seven!  Ghaaana, independence day! Ghana is marching,  Ghana is marching, Ghana, Ghana,  Ghana is mar—ching!” Those were the words we sang, with our shrill voices Shuffling our feet and swinging our arms  Proud even though we knew little of what we sang And we all loved the '6th March' marching day, But surely that was a long long time ago. But what is there to tell about mother Ghana now? They say, we said our country was free forever And yet every day I see her in heavy chains They say, we said, we could manage our own affairs But when last I checked,  The Impossible Mission Fund (IMF) was still in charge. They say, they said, well, isn’t that all we know? The days have gone down in the west;  and now you are old, dear mother. The elderly should recount the good old days.  And the young talk endlessly about dreams,  And castles in the air But what do you talk about at your age?  'good ol