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Links to background informationPoetryAFRICADavid DiopAfrica my Africa Africa of pround warriors in ancestral savannahs Africa of whom my grandmlother sings On the banks of the distant river I have never known you But your blood flows in my viens Your beautiful black blood that irrigates the fields The blood of your sweat The sweat of your work The work of your slavery Africa, tell me Africa Is this your back that is bent This back that makes under the weight of humilation This back trembling with red scars And saying yes to the whip under the midday sun But a grave voice answer me Impetuous child that tree young and strong That tree over there Splendidly alone amidst white and faded flowers That is your Africa springing up anew springing up patiently obstinately Whose fruit bit by bit acquire The bitter taste of liberty.
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