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angola the African dream

Angola, the African Dream.

A box of photos, black & white and amber, under the old woman’s
bed, tell of young faces and success. Cars drive up and down
an avenue called Liberty. Angola, even the most humble state
functionary had a black servant. And the white people were deaf
to the dark voices of independence.
The Portuguese settlers had been promised a land of plenty, and
the local people would be their willing serfs. Foreign legion soldiers
helped them flee the wrath of the exploited. Back in Portugal again,
dipping their hands in manual work, the African dream was over.
Photos never tell a story it’s a blank canvas made up of shadows
and the unspoken. Memories will be sweet and often untrue.
People who had to return back to poverty, will insist they brought
civilization to Angola, especially now that the avenue of Liberty,
in Luanda, is potholed.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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A statesman: then and now

He stands on the podium
with his hat
in his hand
pressed against his chest

on the border with Angola
in his country
(as he still rules
over South West Africa)

and his bare head shines
under the bright Africa sun
where he himself was born

and Ratel armoured cars,
tanks, rocket launchers
and artillery drive past in convoys
back from Angola
to get a salute from him.

He stands like a giant
alone against dark Africa
will nuclear devices
waiting ready in bombs

and missiles
for ballistic purposes
are being manufactured.

Later lump after lump
of sand
falls down in his grave
while a lost journalist
runs for photos around it

and he doesn’t any more know
what is happening
in his own country
and about thunderbolts
that falls from everywhere
on his people

and rumble ominous
above his grave,
not even about water flowing
above him in a rain stream
and every sunrise
that without equal
unfolds above him

and worms gnawing
patiently on his body
since every thing
fades for him to nothing.

poem by Gert Strydom
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The fallen Cuban soldier

Your hand lies stretched out
and still holds on to your Ak
where you lie in Angola,
in the African bush in the last sleep
and in Luanda
and later in Havana
they know that you are missing
and are probably dead.

Nobody of your unit
will ever again,
drive tanks and armoured cars
and their general
does not wait on their return.

Somewhere in Cuba a woman mourns
and waits in vain,
to ever again
hear something from you.

You lifted your weapon
against boys from South Africa
and the bullets of an Afrikaner boy
pierced you.

Your camouflage uniform
is stained with blood
and you are placed in a hole
in the red-brown sand
and white powder,
is dropped on top of you
before you become a part
of the cold earth.

Later a Ovambo’s farm goats
will graze above you and eat
from the thorn bushes,
that grows over you
and you will be forgotten by everyone.

[Ak=Ak47 submachine gun.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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Zimbabwe frightened you

Zimbabwe frightened you,
Zimbabwe where we could be alone
and in a way I felt at home.
The dark black faces,
the savagery, hunger
and wretched poverty
were more than you could take.

You panicked thinking
that the unruly young teenagers
and so-called war veterans
would not just drive
the farmers away,
but were sharpening
their Panga-blades
even for white tourists.

Everywhere you looked,
you saw death, destruction
and black rule taking its toll
and the ever hungry
begging people
was like a prophecy
of what in the future
may be waiting for us
at home.

Visiting the places
we had dreamed of,
the Zimbabwe ruins,
Mana pools, Kariba lake
and the Victoria falls
was like a nightmare to you.

Even the African art carvings
of people and animals
and rural paintings
of the Ndebele people
hardly caught your eye
and you would rather die
than stay a day longer.

African dancers screaming
around a fire
and dancing like shadows
on the beat
of ancient drums
drove the fear home,
so that you wanted to get into the car.

[References: To Minette, of whom there is just memories. You Hated Spain by Ted Hughes.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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I Love The African Woman

I Love The African Woman
I love the African woman
Her golden eyes
Burnt by smoke yet remained pure
Her black hair
Burdened by loads yet remained long
I love the African woman
Her dark lips
Kissed and chewed by men, Black and White
Yet remained full and thick
Her tender breast
Fondled by hands, smooth and callous
Yet remained firm and tall
At her back great men slept
On her laps heroes were nursed
At the meeting of her thighs all men dream
Her feet, hardened and bruised
Yet she keep moving
With pride
With dignity
I love her African heart
I love her African passion
I love the African woman

poem by Joseph Eli Atisu
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A War Story

There’s a story that have being told
(and I do not know if there is truth to it) ,
that after the slaughtering
of the 47th FAPLA / Cuban brigade at the intersection
of the Lomba and Cuzizi Rivers in Angola,

the mauling of several brigades on the way
to Cuito Cuanavale and the destruction
of that military airfield, the loss of many soldiers,
the destruction of nine Mig fighters
and the loss of huge amounts of Soviet equipment

Fidel Castro was very angry and in a terrible rage
brought his Cuban soldiers in Angola
up to fifty thousand, sent four hundred tanks
and his best pilots to Angola,
after the South African forces had withdrawn

which resulted in the Mig-23 attack
on the Calueque dam
in South West Africa (now Namibia) ,
where a Buffel troop carrier was lost
along with some South African soldiers.

According to the story in vengeance
a team of elite South African
Reconnaissance Commandos
was HALO dropped equipped with
the Fim-92 Stinger anti-aircraft systems

that UNITA had supplied to them,
along with some other weapons and equipment
that these special force soldiers do normally carry
to shoot down MIG-23’s
and Hind attack helicopters

that was putting UNITA under attack
and it has been told that they were dropped
near to an enemy airbase under the nose
of the large Russian aircraft that was scanning
the air for any approaching enemy activities

where they shot down
several fighter jets and attack helicopters,
but that the section-leader
left one pilot to fly off after seeing him
making a cross, begging God for mercy.

The Reconnaissance Commandos managed to withdraw,
were extracted at the allocated extraction point
without any further incident with either FAPLA
or any Cuban enemy units
but the story gets much more interesting.

It is told that while that Recce section-leader
was holidaying in the United States
he took a taxicab from the airport to his hotel,
where the driver (a former Cuban pilot) recognized him
and that he had left Cuba as a refugee.

poem by Gert Strydom
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History Is Made Today

Kunta Kinte's Gambia,
Kwame Nkrumah's Ghana,
Nelson Mandela's South Africa,
Kofi Annan's U.N.,
And Barack Obama's U.S.A.;
All the records are there for a purpose,
For today history is made in the U.S.A.!

Check the history of these great men and what they are made of?
For the Slave Trade started in the year 1530;
And in 2008, a Blackman is elected as the 44th U.S.President.
1530 to the Slave Trade,
And after 478 years today history is made;
4th November's U.S. Election made a history!

Of slaves from Nigeria,
Of slaves from Ghana,
Of slaves from Senegal,
Of slaves from Gambia,
Of slaves from Angola,
And all the other places of the African Continent;
What was due to us has been done.

'I have a dream'! Martin Luther King (1963):
And today (2008) the dream is fulfilled (Barack Hussein Obama) .
Even babies could pronouce the name 'Obama'! ! !
For the American dream is for a better America.

Of the slaves gone by and the tears of the people today,
Out of Africa to America;
Inot the plantations of a hard work to fulfil this dream today,
So i really understood the tears of many after the results.

'Yes we can'! After 478 years in history;
The American Independence came but many were still not liberated,
Not until the 4th November's 2008 U.S. Election.
I say the tears of many,
And this history of the First Black Family to sit in the White House;
But to al things, let us give glory to the Creator Almighty.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Memories of Mom

There is nothing I can think of
That brings back old memories
As much as old family photos
What a treat they are for me

Especially ones of my mom
The woman who brought me up
I love to see her beautiful smile
I remember her tender touch

The old photos of her ironing
Reminds me of all her hard work
All the years that I was going up
There wasn’t a chore she would shirk

Oh look, at the little building
That had nearly fallen down
Mom and I were both born there
It’s a rare photo that I found

And here is my precious family
Mom, dad and my brother and sister
Mom is smiling so happily
I would love to hug and kiss her

Yes, family photos are treasures
Gives you thoughts to reminisce on
Like these wonderful photos here
They bring back memories of mom!

poem by Marilyn Lott
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Innocent Dreams

A white man was at a playground
pushing his son on the swing
'Look son, ' said the white man
'Never play with that....thing! '
The black man and his son ignored them
and kept swinging instead
Until the white man faced him
and said,
'Look at your skin color
what do you see?
A different color thats what
You're different then me
You talk different, act different
And walk different too
You dont belong here nig**r
None of your kind do.'
The black man told his son to go play
And turned back his head
He didnt want to cause a fight
So this is what he said,
'From one man he created all
The nations throughout the whole Earth
God created people in his own image
We are brothers from birth.
There is nothing wrong with us
We are the same as you
A different color shouldnt matter
What should matter is what we do
And the people that treat us like we're not human
And the people that dont want to get along
Hopefully one day will understand
That what they did and do is wrong
Something to remind you
That made alot of hopes beam
Is a song quoted
from a man that had a dream

My country 'tis of thee,
Sweet Land of Liberty,
Of thee I sing:
Land where my father's died,
Land of the pilgriom's pride,
From every mountainside
let freedom ring.

The white man was shocked
At what he had to say
He wanted to get his son
And just get away
He yelled for his son
Commanding him, 'Let's go! '
But his son didn't come
He didn't even show
The black man pointed
in the direction
As he watched the two boys playing together
with love and affection.
The black man asked,
'Are you going to yell at your son?
Or are you going to leave him be
And let him play with my boy
to have some fun?
Now watch those two
What do you see?
Two children alike
Like you and me.'

By: Shaina Lloyd

poem by Shaina Lloyd
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18th Avenue

Well i rode a while, for a mile or so
Down the road to the eighteenth avenue
And the people i saw were the people i know
And they all came down to take a view
Oh the path was dark and borderless
Down the road to the eighteenth avenue
And it stung my tongue to repeat the words
That i used to use only yesterday
Meanings just dropped to the ground
I tried to remember what i thought
And what i used to say
"don't let me go down" no don't let me go
Oh my hands were tied as i struggled inside
The empty waste of another day
Memories were blank to my eyes
The fire and the glory of that night
Seemed safely locked away
Too hungry to rise. too hungry to
Well i rode a while, for a mile or so
Down the road to the eighteenth avenue
And the people i saw were the people i know
And they all came down to take a view
Oh the path was dark and borderless
Down the road to the eighteenth avenue
But my head felt better as i turned the car
And the airport slowly came to view
One mile said the sign
Checked my bags and made it straight to end gate 22
Made it just in time, boy you've made it just in time

song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Two Different People

Two different people
Black people, white people
Black world, White world
A black person thinks different from the white people
White people thinks highly of himself
White people works very hard for his living
Black's are lazy
They don't want to work, they just want the money
You have to work for the money, they just don't get it
White people knows that there are no free ride in life
Black's want a free ride, there are no free ride in life
Nothing is free in life except for the air that you breathe
The white people have to be careful of what they say to the black People
Whatever you say to the black people if they don't like it they will say it Is discrimination
We can't understand them
They have a mind of their own
The white people are loving and caring
What about the black people?
Not a hope in hell
I don't want any part of the black world
The black world is not safe for me
So I rather stay in my white world where I feel safe
We can't trust them
The reason why there is violence in this world is because the black People cause it
Now they don't like it because they have to live with it
We want a safe world for our people
The black people don't care about it because the only thing they know And seen is violence
There is too much violence on TV
They like it
They like the feeling of danger
We white don't like the feeling of danger
The blacks hate the white people and the white people don't like them Either
The white people knows when to shut up
The black people never knows when to shut up
There is why there are always problem with them
They make life miserable for us
The white people will always be a good friend
The black people can never be your friend
They will take everything they can get from you for free

poem by Aldo Kraas
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5th Avenue

Written by gerry beckley, 1984
Found on perspective.
Walking down 5th avenue
I saw him walking there with you
People see and people talk
Word travels fast round my block
Might just save you the price of writing
I could save you an hour or two
Walking down 5th avenue
Walking down 5th avenue
Dont know what to ask of you
My mind is gettin so confused
Even when I really try
Keeps sounding like Im saying goodbye
Somewhere deep in my heart Im hurtin
cause I keep on remembering you
Walking down 5th avenue
Walking down 5th avenue
Such a long way to go
How many times must I look up and say
What kind of fool am i
But I cant turn my back on the times that we shared
No matter how I try
Walking down 5th avenue
Cant seem to shake the thought of you
Even in the dark of night
Your memories of shining light
Though Im tryin to change direction
I pray what I saw aint true
Walking down 5th avenue
Walking down 5th avenue
Such a long way to go
Do, do, do, do ...

song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Somewhere in Angola

Somewhere in Angola
you were planted
back into African soil
from where you sprouted
to make it young again
with blood
marked with a small cross
that’s blown away by the dry wind
and there you
child of God
also found a Golgotha
and I wonder how many boys:

still have to fall in Africa
before the last shots ring?

poem by Gert Strydom
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My African Land

Forgotten trodden past
Hopeful saintful future

I walk in my African land

Africa bears its fruits on crushed branches
Its children bear hope to a tortured yesterday

I walk in my African land

With its tormented heart it loves
With is abused state it sees happiness
With its crushed psyche it looks on caringly

I walk in my African land

I embrace the streets of struggle
Covered by the sands of war from a grieved soul
My African people stride in colourful clothes
As a rainbow ending stormy rage of corrupted seas

I walk in my African land

Tall buildings escalated egos
Fancy cars, classy hearts
Large salaries, tiny compassions
My Africa forgets the hardships endured
My brother forgets Ubuntu
My Africa loses sight
Still,

I walk in my African land

My Africa shines with the sun
That burns dry the tears of his people

I walk in my African land

My Africa rises to a new world of liberty
Freedom from chained minds
Freedom from captured dreams
Freedom from limited abilities

I walk in my African land

My Africa bids welcome
As I enter with pride
Knowing that the war has been won
And success awaits

I walk in my African land

poem by Gabi Ngubeni
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The photos were taken by African Union soldiers. People in Congress saw them. I thought if people could see them, there would be public outcry. No one would be able to say, We just didn't know what was going on there.

quote by Nicholas D. Kristof
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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African Spirit

Unfortunately, I will not stop,
Across Africa, I will travel with this African face,
My African pride,
And my African story.

I saw your face in Zimbabwe;
Then I saw it again in South Africa.
You smiled at me in Malawi,
Why were you surprise to see me again in Angola?

I carry the African song,
Listen to soulful rhythems from within.
I have an African heart,
With lots of love and pain, it won't part.

Your African face smiles at me with inspiration,
Across Africa and the world, give me an ear;
I speak an African language.

Someday you will know my love,
Someday you will sing my song,
Someday you will hold my heart;
Someday you will cry the same tears in my eyes.

Someday you will relieve my pain,
One day you will understand me.
Someday you will join my fight an we'll make Africa our pride.

poem by Peter Phiri
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Everybody dreams.

Everybody dreams.
Children dream,
Adults dream,
Old people dream.

I dream, too.

I dream about the friends with whom I'll grow old,
I dream about the person whose hands I'll hold,
I dream about being young and in love,
I dream about loved ones, looking down from above.

I dream of the places I'll one day see,
I dream of being wild and free,
I dream of my house, high on the rocks,
I dream of the sand underneath my socks.

I dream of the people I'd love to greet,
I dream of the things I'll say when we meet,
I dream of hearing their voices sing,
I dream of being happy with everything.

I dream of travelling with a map in my hand,
I dream of never coming back to this land,
I dream of finding myself - in sense
I dream of jumping far off this fence.

I dream of any things that one day I'll know,
I dream of the freedom: a dream I won't let go,
I dream of my future and marvel at my pride
As my heart is flying and singing inside.

poem by Twilight Whispers
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The African Women (For T-Y Bello)

Each time I think
of the African woman,
I search for your pix
In the chip of my memory.

The African woman,
Her eyes radiant like
a young lover
so blazing a pupil
planted among white surrounds

The African women
is blessed with a soft smile
her dentations are like the
vertical bars of a police sergeant - major

The African woman,
her touch break barriers
the smell of her hair is like
the aroma of frankincense.

The African woman
has the warmest of embrace
stay black my little
Pumpkin.

poem by Matthias Pantaleon
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Misrepresented People

In 1492 you came upon these shores.
Seven hundred years, educated by the moors;
17th Century-- genocide and the gun
Middle Passage blessed to market the Africans.
In the so-called Land of God??
My kind were treated hard.
From back then until now
I see, and you agree--
We have been a misrepresented people.
From back then until now
Just see my family tree;
We have been a misrepresented people.
We have been a misrepresented people.
19th century-- slavery destroyed.
Soldiers who fought and won
Whats known as nigger-boys??.
20th century-- with freedom in my hand,
We invent ideas
Which helped us save a land,
But while I prayed to God
My moms and pops got whored.
From back then until now
Youll see our history;
We have been a misrepresented people.
From back then until now
Just see my family tree;
We have been a misrepresented people
Yes, we have been a misrepresented people.
1969-- Black power's at the door.
1982-- Hop-hop was on the floor.
1992-- Gangsta crack prevailed.
1999-- Our colors filled the jails.
It is through the grace of God
That we all were not scarred.
From back then until now
We see no comedy;
We have been a misrepresented people.
From back then until now
Were we still a mystery;
We have been a misrepresented people.
Yes, we have been a misrepresented people.
Though we march across time,
A sea of victories,
We have been a misrepresented people.
From back then until now
You know we made you grow;
We have been a misrepresented people.
We have been a misrepresented people.
From back then until now
We see our destiny
To never be a misrepresented people.
Yes, we march across to time to free
A melody
To never be a misrepresented people.
No you must never be a misrepresented people.
[Thanks to [email protected] for lyrics]

song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The White African

The White African

By
Ross Dix-Peek

Over the great ocean seas
My ancestors did choose to flee,
Europe’s rumblings and poverty,
And to “Darkest Africa” did journey

It was many, many years past,
When Queen Vic’ was still at the mast,
When my forebears resolute did come,
To live beneath the great African sun

Since has Mother Africa suckled our young
To us her lullabies and sweet songs sung,
And all this time ‘neath her fiery mantle
Did my people in Africa live, toil and battle

Africa is not for the mild and the meek,
It's no place at all for the feeble and the weak,
And the days oft be savage and so very long,
Yes, it's only for the brave and the very strong

Many generations did pass, and many years shorn,
Before I too upon African soil was born,
Like my fathers’ before, a White African,
Created and cast beneath her scorching sun

And although I have since her rugged shores left,
My soul to Mother Africa’s bosom will forever be cleft,
And though I may miss the tight embrace of an African sun,
It matters not, for I will forever be a White African!

poem by Ross DixPeek
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Now that time flies past

Now that time flies past
this will be seen
as Afrikaner history
and people will say
that it is past

but we know
he was jailed
like a criminal,

was later Prime Minister
and then President
(and it’s not Nelson Mandela
that I am talking about)
this man was a true Afrikaner
and seen by some
as a patriot

Maybe planted bombs
to blow up railway lines
and held a gun in his hand,
seen at a time
by white people
as a terrorist
and was jailed for it
but wasn’t a killer
like the terrorists of today

and later
he could take
the Big Black Book
in his hand
and on it make a solemn oath
before the Lord
and try to keep his promise,

until the big crocodile
snapped him in two
and walked into his shoes
and the total onslaught came

and eland armoured cars, later ratels,
artillery and rocket launching lorries
stood in Angola
to hit the communists
into pieces.

poem by Gert Strydom
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