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Kofi Anyidoho
The Hyena's Hymn
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Slums Of Our Earth
My Song
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Slums Of Our Earth

i.

So he flew over all slums of Eden
spent his grant money in Accra
spent his grant and guts and brains
funding crime in Nima our rotten dream

Today I watched him
shit his new model
for 3rd World Development
They say he is a consultant
to USAID and IMF and AIC
Today, here in these distant academies of the learned
I watched him
sing a praise song
for his big breakthrough
in anthropological urban studies into
the political economy of urban slums
He spoke of form and of structure
spoke of variants and of invariables
of projected revenues and capital outlays
and all the bubbles on which the learned crash their brains

ii.

Tayoba took him up on
childish contradictions within
the intimidating splendour of his Kantian model
the elaborate wordy games of self-deceit
His breath grew scant
From somewhere under his civilized breath
he spewed some vitriol in the air
screaming obscenities
and loudly protesting
our legendary incapacity for civilized discourse
I was content to ask only
a few questions on points of fact
He declared I was parochial and a nuisance
But all his nonsense came to a sudden breaking point

iii.

It is lies, all lies
The Nimas of our land
are not the lost children of rural minds
The Harlems of your world
are not the natural growth of man's desires
They arc born and bred on drawing boards of
architects and engineers of urban growth
They are the dispossessed children of
the mansions on the other side of town
They are dreams deprived of memories of joy
The slums of Accra and of New York
The slums of Lagos and of London
All our Brixtons and Harlems
our Nimas Sowetos Ageges our Harlems
they are tired offspring of
the diseased imagination of deities of greed
They are starved spiritual doubles of
the mansions on the other side of town
the ghoulish negatives of
the stinking glory of surburban mansions
So glad I am we made him lose his cool
The learned man shat his scorn on the public square
and the flies bore witness to his lies
The slums, he said, belong to weird people
So now we know just why his Kantian model
made the slums so natural to dwellers of the slum

iv.

We cannot take kindly to unkind words
Such words are more than bubbles
in the mouths of clowns
There are poisons in words that grow from rotten guts
Words are safe only with their handle to your heart
We gave him back the sharp point of words
of a sudden his breath grew scant
He abandoned his Kantian logic
and shat his scorn upon the public square

But it's lies, all all lies
The slums of Nima
are not the natural habitat of mankind's hopes
They are garbage dumps for stolen feasts
cooked in mansions of the rich.

v.

Do not talk to me of
models and form and structure
The darkness of the slums
is the shadow side of
proud structures on Wall Street
There are no lights in the slums
but there are flames in the hearts of slum dwellers
There may not be much "order" in the slums
but there is great order in the steady beats of
the hearts of slum dwellers
Wilson Harris told us once upon a time:
All civilization is built upon a series of thefts
Beginning, of course, with Prometheus.

March 24, 1983

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