Emilia Onuonga: She Still Stands
/She Still Stands
by Emilia Onuonga ’19
My 10 year old cousin tells me that he
does not want to be Kenyan,
only American
and I cannot pretend to be shocked
He grew up in a society which told him that
Black
Was Not
good
enough
And that his Skin
Color
Was Not
light
enough. They tell me
that She
is full of third world, no-good, back hand, dirty countries
They tell me
that Africans are stuck in their ways
people who keep on drumming and singing
to useless tunes. But when I
look into the eyes of Africa,
I see her striving to live in a world
Which told her to leave the dinner table
Only to throw her on the platter
Burn her flesh
And devour her the the next day. All
because of the color of her
skin.
They tell me
that Her Ebony, Cinnabon, Mocha, Co-co Chocolate colored skin is inferior
But when I see Ebony and when I
smell that Cinnamon,
I feel strength embedded within.
They tell me
that Europeans did it for God
But In 1885, when the almighty
all so Heavenly, Great powers
Whitened their hankerchiefs
Glossened their smiles
And Sharpened their teeth
To take a bite in Africa,
their crosses shattered
They did not listen to her cries
they watched her bleed
& pretended that her blood was not
The same color:
Red
They say they did it for God
Yet I saw hunger in their eyes. Tell me, then,
Belgium. France. U. S. A.
Where was your God?
There cannot be a God in a room full of egotistical white man
And Yet despite this
despite being tied up and shipped off like a package
Despite being cut into Pie-
ces and chopped a-
part like meat at the butchers
Africa still stands
Africa still sings
Africa keeps on keeps on keeps on drumming
When Africa speaks
It is in parables
Telling concrete truths in abstract terms.
When Africa dances
She moves with the intention
Of shaking the devil off her back
Every hip thrust, head nod, low dip is a spiritual awakening
When Africa dresses
Her bold blues and daring yellows
make her ebony skin
Shine bright
They told Africa to stop her hips from swinging
And stop her lips from singing
But she did not listen
Instead,
Africa still stands
Africa still sings
Africa keeps on keeps on keeps on drumming
They tell me
That Black will never be good
Enough
Because our skin is not white
enough
But I can no longer hear their words
All I hear is the roar of her drum
beating
Bum de-dum dat- de-de-dum bum de-dum dat-de-de-dum bum bum bum de-dum