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Africa my Africa,Africa my Africa
Africa my Africa, Africa of proud warriors in the ancestral savannahs, Africa my grandmother sings of Beside her distant river I have never seen you But my gaze is full of your blood Your black blood spilt over the fields. The blood of your sweat The sweat of your toil The toil of slavery The slavery of your children. Africa, tell me Africa, Are you the back that bends Lies don under the weight of humbleness? The trembling back striped red That, says yes to the sjambok on the roads of noon? Solemnly a voice answers me Impetuous child, that young and sturdy tree That tree that grows There splendidly alone among white and faded flowers Is Africa, your Africa. It puts forth new shoots With patience and stubbornness puts forth new shoots Slowly its fruits grow to have The bitter taste of liberty 3
Africa, my Africa, Africa of proud warriors in the old grasslands, Africa my grandmother sings about Beside her faraway river I have never seen you But my eyes are full of your blood Your black blood spilled on the fields. The blood from your sweat The sweat from your hard work The hard work from slavery The slavery of your children. Africa, tell me Africa, Are you the back that bends Lies down under the weight of humility? The trembling back marked red That says yes to the whip on the roads at noon? Solemnly a voice answers me Eager child, that young and strong tree That tree that grows There beautifully alone among white and faded flowers Is Africa, your Africa. It grows new branches With patience and determination grows new branches Slowly its fruits grow to have The bitter taste of freedom