Ode To The Black Woman

Dear reader, please pay attention to the message and acknowledge the beauty of words stringed by one of The Gambia’s finest poets … *drum roll*…. Omar Malleh Wadda!

Hell Hath No Fury

Do we love our black women?

After years of oppression, haven’t they earned the right to be on equal footing?

To be regarded as peers, if not superior to we men

The past is fickle at best

At times immortalised in stone and others rendered in delicate memory

How we so easily forget that they are divine, that they create life

We overlook their strength, their endurance and their flawless intuition

Take for granted the harsh reality of being a wife, of being a mother

Never wanting to trade roles in this calamity

And yet we treat them so

Cursing them to a life of subordination, we make them follow

Our worth or ability to lead, never coming into question, always deemed irrelevant

Whatever we dish out they eat and punish when the taste goes without praise

It’s a man’s world after all, propaganda preached as truth

Where we utilise words like responsibility, that are mere euphemisms for burden

One strand on a great web of lies, one we dare not disturb, lest all others tremble

Power we abuse that are but masks we wear, forged under society’s ignorance

If only they knew it hides the face of insecurity, for we fear their potential for greatness

And if that isn’t enough

The little latitude society affords them, is crushed under the heel of religion

We boast our knowledge of scripture yet sermonise prejudiced indoctrination

Designed to keep them submissive and us empowered

From the answers we procure, this knowledge is derived

Yet we remain lost

For behind a comprehension of those answers, lies the wisdom that is our salvation

Wisdom we are yet to be enlightened to

And a misunderstanding of these two, only paves the path to our doom

Some empathise and voice words of change

Yet when all is said and done, more is said than done

As men, another thing we are fond of forgetting is

Whenever oppression reigns supreme, insurrection inevitably follows

The foundation that keeps us sane, collapses beneath our feet

Some rebuild, yet more often than not all that remains within is chaos

This facade of control we propagate exhales its last breath

Under the pressure of their imminent awareness, our masks slowly crack and the heel blisters

And when they finally realise that greatness was theirs all along

We best appeal to their kindness, and pray that unlike us, they are merciful


Do I hear you snapping your fingers? Is that a smile I see on your face? Well worth it, I tell you. The piece shall be performed tonight at Balafong’s Spoken Word Event. 8pm. Djeliba Hotel Lounge. D100 for entrance. Have a great weekend! 🙂


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