Sing, Dear Mother Africa

I say, hey, dear Mother Africa,
Sing your sad, sad song.
Tell them how you gave them life
And how they do you wrong.

Tell them, Mother Africa.
Tell them, sweet mother of all.
If given the truth again and again,
Maybe they’ll hear your call.

Your lighter children left the cradle.
They journeyed far and wide.
But your darker sons and daughters
Stood proudly by your side.

Their appreciation of life
Was one of humble sophistication.
The fragile beauty of the land
Complimented the wisest of civilizations.

The natives cultivated the land,
And, likewise cultivated their minds.
Many of the diverse cultures
Were artistic, skilled and refined.

Yes, dear Mother Africa,
Sing your tune of irony.
It’s funny to be called “noble savages.”
When you’re the epitome of humanity.

Tell them, Mother Africa:
While the natives were clothed like men,
Their white brothers were still living in caves
And running around in animal skins.

But that is just one example.
There are hundreds of comparisons.
There is much more to be learned of Africa
And the story of her sons.

Sing on, child of genesis.
Sing your sad, sad song.
Tell them how you gave them life,
And how they do you wrong.

Eventually the barbarians returned,
Beating down the ocean with ominous ships.
They came with savagery in their hearts,
And guns on their hips.

Yes, oh Mother Africa,
Tell your woeful tale.
Reveal how they raped your lands
Of gold, and diamonds as well.

They did not even realize
That they were robbing their original mother.
But the greatest tragedy of all,
Was how they treated their darker brothers.

You tell them, Mother Africa—
How they put the natives in chains—
How they forced different peoples to foreign lands.
The treatment was quite inhumane.

Let them know, dear Mother Africa—
How they broke up families—
How they broke the spirit of a man,
Robbing him of humanity.

Tell them, Mother Africa!
Spare no mercy! Reveal their sins!
Tell how women and children were raped
By the brutal and cruel white men.

Many are so ignorant,
They don’t even realize their brothers’ resentment.
Many are oblivious to the tale
That underlies the feelings of discontent.

Many would like to hide the guilt
With a plea of innocence.
Others attempt to veil the deceit
With a facade of ignorance.

Sing, oh Mother Africa!
Sing, again and again!
Tell your white sons to scrutinize history
And truly make amends.

Tell them that they have faltered
With the stonewalling and half solutions.
In order for this country to survive,
There must be understanding and complete conclusions.

So sing, dear Mother Africa.
Sing your sad, sad song.
Tell them how you gave them life,
And how they do you wrong.



by Phillip McCullough Jr.

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