I Am AfricanBy Gabriel M. Setiloane
They call me African
African indeed I am:
Rugged son of the soil of
Black as my father, and his before him;
As my mother and sisters and brothers, living and gone from this world.
They ask me what I believe… my faith.
Some even think I have none
But live like the beasts of the field.
“What of God, the Creator
Revealed to mankind through the Jews of old,
The YAHWEH: I AM
Who has been and ever shall be?
Do you acknowledge Him?”
My fathers and theirs, many generations before, knew Him.
They bowed the knee to Him
By many names they knew Him,
And yet ‘tis He the One and only God
They called Him:
UVELINGQAKI:
The First One
Who came ere ever anything appeared:
UNKULUNKULU:
The BIG BIG ONE,
So big indeed that no space could ever contain Him.
MODIMO:
Because His abode is far up in the sky.
They also knew Him as MODIRI:
For He has made all;
And Lesa:
The spirit without which the breath of man cannot be.
But, my fathers, from the mouths of their fathers, say
That this God of old shone
With a brightness so bright
It blinded them… Therefore…
He died Himself, UVELINGQAKI,
That none should reach His presence…
Unless they die (for pity flowed in His heart).
Only the fathers who are dead come into His presence.
Little gods bearing up the prayers and supplications
Of their children to the GREAT GOD…
“Tell us further you African:
What of Jesus, the Christ,
Born in
Son of Man and Son of God
Do you believe in Him?”
For ages He eluded us, this Jesus of Bethlehem, Son of Man:
Going first to Asia and to
Some say He tried to come to us,
Sending His messengers of old… But…
They were cut of by the desert and the great mountains of
Wanderers from behind those mountains have told
Strange tales to our fathers,
And they in turn to others.
Tales of the Man of
Who went about doing good!
The theme of His truths is now lost in the mouths of women
As they sassed their little children and themselves to sleep.
Later on, He came, this Son of Man:
Like a child delayed He came to us.
The White Man brought Him.
He was pale, and not the Sunburnt Son of the desert.
As a child He came.
A wee little babe wrapped in swaddling clothes.
Ah, if only He had been like little Moses, lying
Sun-scorched on the banks of the
We would have recognized Him.
He eludes us still this Jesus, Son of Man.
His words. Ah, they taste so good
As sweet and refreshing as the sap of the palm
Raised and nourished on African soil
The Truths of His words are for all men, for all time.
And yet for us it is when He is on the cross,
This Jesus of Nazareth, with holed hands
And open side, like a beast at a sacrifice:
When He is stripped naked like us,
Browned and sweating water and blood in the heat of the sun,
Yet silent,
That we cannot resist Him.
How like us He is, this Jesus of Nazareth,
Beaten, tortured, imprisoned, spat upon, truncheoned,
Denied by His own, and chased like a thief in the night.
Despised, and rejected like a dog that has flees,
For NO REASON.
No reason, but that He was Son of His Father,
OR… Was there a reason?
There was indeed…
As in that sheep or goat we offer in sacrifice,
Quiet and uncomplaining.
Its blood falling to the ground to cleanse it, as us:
And making peace between us and our fathers long passed away.
He is that LAMB!
His blood cleanses,
Not only us,
Not only the clan,
Not only the tribe,
But all, all MANKIND:
Black and White and Brown and Red,
All Mankind!
HO! ...Jesus, Lord, Son of Man and Son of God,
Make peace with your blood and sweat and suffering,
With God, UVELINGQAKI, UNKULUNKULU,
For the sins of Mankind, our fathers and us,
That standing in the same Sonship with all mankind and you,
Together with you, we can pray to Him above:
FATHER FORGIVE.
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