Oh, My African Mama

by Oliver Omondi

With a bundle of firewood on her head she moves with weak steps

Her face glows with a baby on her back

The baby is blissful but his muscles are weak

With her last weary step she comes to a stop

Putting the heavy bundle down with a bang

Oh, my African Mama

Rubbing her dirty hands on her apron

The baby clings tightly showing a face of joy

I almost cried, shedding tears of mercy for the growing seed, the baby

Oh, my African Mama

The baby caught his mum’s unkempt hair

Still with a smiling face not knowing the challenges

Her stomach is empty though she looks strong

Oh, my African Mama

Sitting downwards she’s eaten one meal today

I never know, who the first born is from behind

The last born being a boy, another big stomach

Oh, my African Mama

Food on the table, survival for the fittest

They struggle and grab and at last the weak grumble

With the little she has eaten, she plans for the next

Oh, my African Mama

Wrinkles on her face with strong lines

How is it being a woman full of hope?

Even with clothes dirty everywhere

Oh, my African Mama

They have struggled but still God sends some more visitors to her;

The babies

Once more the baby stands on his feeble legs

Though feeble, they look rough and strong,

ready for the journey through poverty.

Till when?

Oh, my African Mama