CHERISHED BAOBAB TREE

CHERISHED BAOBAB TREE The colour of my skin is stainedWith an orange circle round my mouthEach time I take a sip of Fanta drinkThe colour of my skin is not buffNeither crimson nor cerise but mixedAnd with a tint of blonde on my head The colour of my skin is not difficult to tellWhen I look at myself backward in the mirrorMy father’s skin is made darker by the sunAnd by charcoal when he sits by the fire placeThen turned grey with dust of the seasonLike the bark of our cherished baobab trees Baobab trees firmly rooted to mother earthHave lived for hundreds or a thousand yearsAnd witnessed the passing of many generationsTracing our long lineage to where it all beganWhile we cook the leaves with millet and peanutsAnd drink the juice of its fruits after benechin The cotton tree challenges the elephant treeBut can’t say no to baobab dotted everywhereWhose trunks hide the faces of people gone byAnd the secrets passed down by our ancestorsLet us dance round the cherished baobab treesFor our ancestors who died old were buried there The baobab tree shades it leaves in dry seasonAnd retains its water from drying out while it restsPreparing for the coming cycles of rain and floodMen built bantaba, the people’s congress, by the roadTo pass the messages across, as we learn with dismayWhat the baobab trees have seen, and wish we were there