Like synecdoche, a part of you is a whole,
You’ve proven yourself a Burj Khalifa,
Standing tall amidst discoloration, And dehumanization of your ample melanin,
Though feeble, frail yet can no man boast of thy strength,
As financier and benefactor,
The very soul that tills the soil,
And with a child strapped to her back,
The mother that mothers infants in the guise of men,
All for the fulfillment of marital obligations,
Perplexed by the advocates of Patriarchy,
A man’s world, I hear them scream,
Yet, they were born by a woman’s scream.

I am the African Woman
I have seen civilization rise and fall
And some given to wine of folly would say,
May God keep the wolves in the caves;
And the women in our beds,
How despicable that my worth
is known when sperm only wants to spill,
And or perhaps a well for you to drill.
Around I walk with thousand thoughts,
But few words spoken even with guts,
Indeed an African Woman I am.

I am the African woman
The tigress that prowls in solitude,
My sorrow no one must hear,
For my tears are shed in solitude,
I am the lioness that defiles her pride to give you life,
I am the one you call honey,
Whenever you are horny,
I am the African Woman
The one whose bosom you suckled on,
After several screams from pleasurable labour
For on my face the reality of motherhood is seen
When my beauty becomes hideous,
And additional flesh to my size 8,
Engineered by fragments of conceptions.

I am the African Woman
In a bid to deny me pleasure of sex,
My foreskin was sacrificed,
Mutilating me terribly
And yet they call it tradition,
I am she, the very soul cursed with labour pains,
For the collective sins of man and I,
In family meetings, I must be quiet,
For man to speak even when I’m right,
For when there is a divorce, I take the blame,
When the child is spoil, it was I who spared the rod,
When there is a conflict, it is I who is uncouth
In all these, man is spared yet I am scared.
I am the African Woman.

Look upon my travail and render a voice
Oh creator of the universe that chose to see my worth less
I am embodied with far too much what my rib man carries
The demands of men and children,
And my obligations to humanity
Drive me each day closer to the hole of death,
And I fear that the untold labour of my specie will prolong,
For I am the unsung heroes of humanity,
I am the African Woman

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