Binyavanga Wainaina

A Baobab tree under which we shall sit,

chewing into the roast maize,

sipping from the gourd,

whose contents are an apothecary of the Divine,

the elephants urine mixed with the Buffalo’s dung,

goat's milk and the warm blood from a nursing cow,

the valleys we have crossed and more yet to be,
'everyone dressed in an attire of dignity,'
a court judge obsessed with legislating physiology,
a police officer enforcing uniformity,
a Bible-quoting Christian the epitome of integrity,
prescribing bleach for HIV cures,
impregnating the house-maid,
has an out-of wedlock child,
yet to pay child-support,
vehemently preaches the un-Africanness of homosexuality,
a Seville-Row attired,
Oxford graduate African politician,
dormed in palaces with perimeter walls,
guarded 24/7 and 365 days,
presides over the skimming of a country's minerals,
the citizenry bedraggled starving masses,
whom when they raise a voice of protest,
are mauled by tanks and guns,
a parent handing a scorpion,
to a hungry child. Ha!
meanwhile they do not own the land title,
of their own country,
shrill sounds ululating,
the arrival of dawn,
turn into whispers,
mesmerized by the departure of dusk,

a light to count on for companionship,

a night to place our trust in,
the tom-tom beat of drums,
a dynamism running itself to sleep,

who makes this land exude multitudinous beings,

the ants forage and sweep through,

tender shoots with a force only nature knows,

from a quiet slumber rise,

 to break through a hard terrain and become,

the Baobab tree under which we shall sit,

chewing into the roast maize.