Post-Colonial Education
Class, repeat after me.
“Eternal Father bless our land
Guide us with Thy mighty hand”
Our anthem, sang each morning
With formality, in khaki uniforms
We, the ripe fruits of resistance
Young inheritors of possibilities
*
Nanny of the Maroons
Sam Sharpe and William Gordon
National heroes, all
Our very own freedom fighters
1831 and 1865 stamped into our memories
The struggle of us vs. them
Reiterated by teachers and textbooks
*
Anancy stories brought from Africa
The call and response of field songs
“Zion Mi Waan Go Home”, went the chant
Of the Rastas. We learned them all
The folk tales and folk songs
That underpinned a fledgling nation
Free from the yoke of colonialism
*
Cultural conviction, built into the curriculum
A thing denied, now the status quo
Goodbye Shakespeare, hello Claude McKay
Identity, woven into the fabric of each class
Including the subjects of chemistry and maths
Now, even white children like me
Could take pride in being black
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[Author's Note: This poem was first published in the chapbook, Beyond the Horizon: Journeys in Poetry and Prose, 2010]
About the Creator
Randy Baker
Poet, author, essayist.
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Yard Work
On a shelf in my shed, there is an old, worn machete. On the handle, you can see my name, etched there in the wood by a much younger hand. Though it has seen plenty of use in its time, it’s fair to say I’ve not wielded that old cutlass much in the past twenty years. Yet, there it is on the shelf. If it serves no other purpose, it serves as a reminder.
By Randy Baker4 months ago in Poets
Comments (2)
Whoaaa, this was extremely powerful! Well done!
Oh! This felt SO powerful, Randy. I really enjoyed this one!