POETIC JUSTICE: “Rats and Cockroaches have entered the city!” admits Gaddafi.
Weakleak: If I were Col. Muammar Gaddafi, I would ‘smell the rats’ and quit the room before they come and humiliate me the Saddam way. I should have learned the lessons from Ben Ali (Tunisia), Mubarak (Egypt), Saddam (Iraq), Bin Laden (World), Bashir (Sudan)… name them.
Oops Sorry! CORRECTION: Bashir is yet to follow, but is now busy preparing the ground by openly bombing his people. What I hate with all those leaders is the way they undermine others: the power of their own people to the extent of attracting the power of the foreign people to kind of intervene! I mean them ‘NATOs’ coming to test their idle weapons in Africa.
The Tripling Trip to Tripoli
AK47 rattles: rat-a-tat-tat!
Gaddafi then smells the rat
As the battalions of the roaches
Begin to declare their approaches
He gropes the way to the holes of the moles
while the Coalition swaps with him the roles
Which aren’t any longer sweet
“Zenga Zenga: street by street,
From House to house:
And mouse to mouse,
Source of the poem: “The Jonglei Jongleur: and other Pennets” By J. Penn de Ngong
Death from Above
Earth and Heaven
Are far apart.
Death and life
Hate each other and part.
Death is the Earth’s son
Life is the Heaven’s daughter.
They do no intermarriage.
Somebody from Heaven,
Tried to bridge the divide,
To reconcile both extremes,
By just diving into the earth
And spending only three days
Doing his mobilization down there,
And escaped up in full,
So that we do likewise.
But we do it otherwise.
My father and siblings,
Are still in their eternal sleep deep down.
Never like Jesus have they resurrected all whole,
And said farewell through their firewall
On their way up one day.
One day I saw earth and heaven
And good and evil lock horns
In a bitter scramble for man.
Four years to the end of the 20th Century,
In Lobone displaced people’s haven,
Death came calling from heaven,
Carried by a metallic eagle,
That spread its fiery faeces
Over the scampering camp
And onto our cramping faces.
We joined moles in the holes
To look for life in the earth below,
Since death captured the heavens above.
Them who remained up
Met death from above.
A mother ,old, and a month-old,
Were shared half-half
Between death and life,
As we, having readily been buried,
Resurrected from our temporary grave
In a scene where death and life
And earth and heaven
Had been wrestling for human.
The trunk of the baby and her mother’s breast,
Dangled from the trunk of a tree and hardly breathed,
Still screaming for the rest of their abdomens
That were kicking away a little gas of life,
In a hot hole smouldering from below,
An early abyss of the Sahell Republic.
Our end question was,
Did Christ reconcile the Earth and Heaven,
Forget life in the soil below,
Shed death off into the air above,
And carried his body into the paradise beyond?
Are we, the original inhabitants of Africa,
Being crucified child-and-mother,
Dismembered and scattered yonder,
Onto the twigs of our trees,
By Mujahedeens’ Antonov,
Just for being Black Christs in Africa?
Source: The Black Christs of Africa. By the same author.
Khartoum, she said, was bombing the refugees as they walked north-west of Sobat
river. Army plane had also bombed Nasir and its hospital on 14 May and again on 15 May (1991). Thirty-six people were dead. Dozens more were wounded…
‘The whole air stank. It was just nothing – like the only form of life was sort of buzzards and stray dogs. And just everywhere were dead cows, dead people, people hanging upside down in trees,’ Alastair later told me. They had to keep driving off the road to avoid all the bodies. They saw three children tied up together with their heads smashed in. they saw disembowelled women. Alastair took pictures. At Bor, the huts were still smouldering. They had to cover their faces to breathe inside the hospital where Bernadette Kumar had once operated.
A soldier’s body was rotting inside, and the floors were heaped with the cattle carcasses.
Deborah Scroggins, Emma’s War (Page 260)
Bor Massacres, 1991.
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