I am the winds of Africa.

I am the winds whispered to by the ancients of the rock-hewn churches of Lalibela,

the winds that have heard the murmurs of the ancestors at Great Zimbabwe.


I am the winds of the Upemba,
I am the winds resting at Mapungubwe,
I am the winds above Giza,

I am the winds of the Songhai,
I am the winds of the Djenné-Djenno,
I am the winds of the Numidia,

I have breathed across these lands,
these lands have breathed into me.


I have witnessed colonialists carving up my continent,

I have heard screams of mothers and children,

I have seen the slave-ships set sail,

I carry the memories of my people manacled, and bound in chains. 


I have heard the shrieks of my people,
I have seen my lands plundered,

I have borne witness to murder,
to oppression,
to tyranny,

I have caressed far too many bruised bodies, 
I have dried far too many mothers tears. 


I am the winds of Africa. 

I embrace the hope my people carry,
I feel it thud-thudding in their veins,

I encompass my lands bathed with renewed spirit each dawn, 

I encompass my lands infused with hope each morn,

as my Africa wraps me in its dazzling multi-hued, comforting shawl. 

 

Afzal Moolla was born in Delhi, India while his parents were in exile, working as political exiles against Apartheid in South Africa. He then travelled wherever his parent’s work took them, spending time in Egypt, Finland, and Iran. Afzal works and lives in Johannesburg, South Africa.

This piece was first published on Afzal Moolla's personal blog.