People of Guinea, My People
Thirty years ago, on 26 March 1984, President Ahmed Sékou Touré lay dying. Everybody could agree on one thing and that is that he was a great patriot, a great African and Panafricanist. He was never known to have had castles in Spain, bank accounts in London, Paris, Washington, nor shares in the Tokyo stock exchange. On the controversial issues concerning administrative power, in the context of the cold war and the struggle for the liberation of Africa, (think for instance of “Operation Carlota” and of the assassination of Amilcar Cabral), the debate will rage on for a long time to come. All the prosecutors and all the defence attorneys will have the right to be heard. For this 30th anniversary of his death however, this poem is dedicated to him.
People of Guinea, my people.
I could have been this pauper
A child without milk or roof.
A boy abandoned, faithless.
Young without education,
Adolescent deprived of attention.
A man without confidence.
A shadow without presence.
Idler liar and thief
Stateless tramp and cheater.
People of Guinea, my People.
I could have been this pauper
Subjugated as a beast of burden,
Without freedom, toy for any person.
Base agent of the counter revolution,
Cynically suppressing any spring
Of the great industrious people
Creepy slavish skirmisher
At the service of the master imperial
To perpetrate the reign colonial.
People of Guinea, my People.
I could have been this pauper,
Living treacherously in spinelessness,
Of opportunism and of clownishness,
In the midst of a snubbed society.
By my acts and my thought,
Sad and shameful lot,
Whose ignominy is the spring
For this degrading existence,
My banishment had been exigent
People of Guinea, my People.
I could have been this pauper;
Deprived of all efficiency;
In the struggle for liberty;
Suffering all at once;
Without resistance without faith;
Both nature and history;
Subject to only the artisans of history;
In the defence of justice;
Without compromise or artifice.
People of Guinea, my People.
I could have been this pauper,
Who would never have been your elected;
O great proud and resolute people!
And who without determination would have succumbed to the demeaning action of reactionary forces;
Aligned against the revolutionary forces.
People of Guinea, my People.
For having begotten and made me,
For having nourished and fulfilled me,
Educated and cared for me,
To Have in me destroyed,
What depersonalizes and demeans,
What degrades and defiles.
Nor the fatherland betrayed,
Nor the people enslaved.
I owe you life and recognition.
I owe you confidence and renaissance.
People of Guinea, my People.
Against your enemies of every race,
Against rapacious imperialism,
Oppressive colonialism,
Exploitative capitalism,
Against criminals from every part,
I would be your arm and your rampart.
So that your liberty would flourish,
So that your dignity continues,
That your action amplifies,
That the revolution triumphs.
People of Guinea, my People.
I can neither hesitate
Nor retreat.
In the face of the criminal plots of your enemies.
And the satanic plans have strengthened and galvanized in Syli only one will,
The will to put down those who vow to humiliate and deride you.
And who, for their villainy, are deserving of the gallows.
Just ransom to the nation of treacherous assassins.
Instead you have fashioned me a soul
To the radiance of your flame.
I can neither hesitate
Nor retreat.
People of Guinea, my People.
My gift is without reservation,
My property and my life without hesitation
Will support your noble struggle.
And firmly guide my steps;
Toward a future happy and brilliant,
Proud and gallant.
That of which I’m aware,
Invites me to efficient efforts.
What matter the calumnies of these bandits;
As well as the dance halls of these accursed.
People of Guinea, my People.
By the quality of my conscience,
And the nature of my existence,
I will serve everywhere with honor.
It is to you alone that I owe everything.
Both my body that participates,
And my will that anticipates,
Resolute at the combat and faithful,
We will make you, People, veritable model,
Eternal symbol of vitality,
In a world of felicity.
*Ababacar Fall Barros is former cordinator of Grila Sénégal
* This poem was translated from French for Pambazuka News by Uchenna Osigwe