Mohamed Abdikadir Daud in Search of the African Mother

By: Muhammad Shamsaddin Megalommatis
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[ Posted On: 2008-08-22 ]

Coming across a new masterpiece of the Modern African poetry, composed by one of Ogaden’s foremost intellectuals, Abwan Mohamed Abdikadir Daud (Stanza), I find ‘My Dear African Mother” as an excellent expression of African postmodern realism, and an outstanding sample of the great literary, intellectual and spiritual resources that the Black Continent has still to deliver to the entire Mankind.

The structural minimalism, the contrast of imageries, the overwhelming metaphors, the unorthodox rhyme, and the brevity of the expressions unfold a great field of semantics extremely rich in polysemy, synonymy and antonymy.

Thanks to line-breaks and laconic stylistics, and despite an apparent interest in setting up the topoi of the African Mother, Abwan Mohamed Abdikadir Daud introduces us in the African Postmodernism and Post-structuralism as he makes available a multitude of perspectives over a ‘decentered’ African Mother, the uncommon denominator of all ramifications of African Life.

My Dear African Mother
By Mohamed Abdikadir Daud (Stanza)

My dear, dear and dear African Mother!
You are my Rhesus factor,
The positive Rhesus factor,
Not the negative Rhesus factor;

Your peace is my logo,
Your happiness is my motto,
Your comfort is my ego,
Your fitness is my manifesto;

My dear, dear and dear African Mother!
The mother of my real mother,
The mother of my true father,
The mother of my son and daughter;

It is me at peace of your advent,
It is me depend on your talent,
It is You smile at me on your lap,
And I smile at you for the smile to smile;

My dear, dear and dear African Mother!
I flourish, flourish and flourish when you are at peace,
I diminish, diminish and diminish when you are at war,
Mum, negative you is negative me and the whole world;

I can not forget the time you wept and wept,
Wept and wept because of bringing me out,
You are irreplaceable and natural pain-killer,
Natural pain-killer created for my care and care;

If gold makes meaning, it is you Mother!
If money is valuable, it is you Mother!
If diamond is dear, it is you Mother!
If oxygen is important, it is you Mother!

I can not call you a wife or a woman!
For you deserve more than the phrase,
Dull is, but who defames your passion,
Dim is, but who denies your vision;

I will congratulate you on your golden jubilee,
I will dance upon your diamond jubilee,
I will celebrate for your silver jubilee,
I will chisel your love in the centre of my heart!

My dear, dear and dear African Mother!
I feel sorry for you my great darling!
Feel sorry for the violation that you face!
The male-made violation that you suffer!
And then, I burst into tears and cascade!

They call me a romantic feminist,
But I am proud of the implicit,
As the explicit is not far from the sense,
And the insight aims at mother-activist;

I will neither estimate your subject,
Nor evaluate your object,
For your role needs not the abstract,
And I am too weak to attempt at the perfect!

My dear, dear and dear African Mother!
It is you, the surrealist of the social image,
The structuralist of our pure discipline,
The novelist of the modern interrelations;

If I were what I am dreaming of,
I should put you above the law!
For you are the reference of law and order,
The law of the natural grass-root law;

I am carrying, and I will carry the flower of peace,
Carry it forever for the sake of you Mother,
I will carry it with fingers full of candid care,
Fingers that fray not from your service;

If I were able to see a moving love,
I should have invited it for your respect,
If I were capable of making it smile,
I should have told it do that for your pleasure!

Fitness is fit, when you are fit!
Greenness is green, when you are green!
Happiness is happy, when you are happy!
Sadness is sad, when you are sad!

When your ovary ovulated,
And the ova were taken to the uterus,
It was me liquid went into your womb,
Solidified there and learnt the cost of your love;

I made you vomit because of the morning-sickness,
I caused you knackered as a result of the horrible illness,
I cried when you cried of the labour-pain,
But God took the plunge to save you from death!

My dear, dear and dear African Mother!
You will never suffer at my own hands!
I will teach them the meaning of motherhood,
And will make them grow with it into manhood;

I will feed you with honey and whatever else you love!
Equip my soul with your leisure and pleasure!
Defend you with my oration and poetry!
Support you with my blood and mercy!

Notes:

• Young African mother with baby in a peaceful village - acrylic on canvas, 67x80 cm / http://www.dancivagallery.dk/africa8.html

• Dan Civa paintings with motifs in glowing colours from Africa and Sri Lanka, depict a number of experiences among colourful people in different stories of everyday life style and temperaments: http://www.dancivagallery.dk/gallery1.html

Article Source: http://www.afroarticles.com/article-dashboard

About The Author: Dr. Muhammad Shamsaddin Megalommatis - is Orientalist, Assyriologist, Egyptologist, Iranologist, Islamologist, Historian and Political Scientist. Dr. Megalommatis, 51, is the author of 12 books, dozens of scholarly articles, hundreds of encyclopedia entries, and thousands of articles. He speaks, reads and writes more than 15, modern and ancient, languages.

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