LIPANDA

Lelo, mokolo ya ntuku misato

Na sanza ya motoba 

Ya mbula nkoto mibale na zomi na minei,

Bipayi bionso, bana ya Congo basangani

Pona kokanisa mobundi monene - Patrice Lumumba

Mpe baye babundaki elongo na ye

Po ete tozua lipanda

Uta tozua Lipanda, 

Totangi lelo ba mbula ntuku motoba na minei

Kasi mabele ya ba tata

Etikali na bowumbu, solo penza;

Sima na ba mbula oyo nionso,

Mwana ya Congo akoki kokoma ata Lingala te, solo;

Ata ko likanisi ezalaki kokangola mabele na bokonzi ya mopaya,

Bisaleli ya bapaya ekonzi mboka kino lelo,

Emononeli ya ba koko ekomi kolimua

Mwana muasi ya Congo azali koyemba Lipanda

Kasi elateli na ye etalisi ete azali mowumbu ya mopaya kino lelo;

Amilatisi ba suki lokola masala ya soso

Pona kokokana na poso pembe,

Kotambolaka na nzela nzoto bolumbu

Pe kolandaka lolenge ya baye bakonzaka 

Ata ko ba tata bapesaka bomoi pona kokabola biso na esaleli ya mopaya,

Bilenge mibali na Congo 

Bazali ko landa mboka ya malili,

Mpasi ya mboka elobeli bango eloko te

Ba koko baboyaka lolenge ya mopaya

Emononeli na bango ezalaka kobunda mpona kobatela bizaleli ya ba tata na bango -

Mwana ya Congo asosoli te ete esengeli to sangana elongo pona kokoba mosala oyo ba koko batikaki na nzela;

Ata ko ba bundaki etumba makasi,

Mboka etikali na bowumbu 

Po ete mwana ya Congo asosoli nanu te ete

Esengeli tobatela emononeli ya ba tata

Mpe tobunda pona mboka ekende liboso.

Only the Ending counts

Grandmother listened to every narration with such self-control -

When the story began with beauties, laughter, riches, and blue skies,

We could sense the gaze of her scepticism;

She seemed unmoved by thrilling openings

But, from where she sat with grey hair  pending over her shoulders,

We could depict a smile in between her wrinkles, as soon as an introduction opened up a world of cries, pain and hardship

Every time we heard church bells ring
and saw a beautiful couple
holding hands,

When all joyful we ran to her, each relating stories of our recently found jobs, homes, relationships,

She whispered while looking unshaken: 'unless it lasts'

A conclusion was what determined her reactions;
Before every theory she maintained 'unless it lasts'

Her advice being 'only the ending counts',

She sometimes accepted that the end justifies the means;

Grandmother emphasised that 

A conclusion was key -

She taught us to never embrace happy starts
She taught us to labour and forge our ending.

She is a Mother with a Heart

She looks lovingly at the small

creature wrapped in her hands

 whose father cannot be distinguished among

the many militia of that night.

The sight of it breaks her heart, bringing up an everlasting fire of 'why?'

Yet, the innocence of the baby makes her smile in between tears;

She is a mother with a heart,

She is a woman like any of us.

She was born in East Congo, her only misfortune

She entered the universe as a product of rape

She witnessed the unjustified execution of her mother,

She had no one to protect her; no social service, no child protection laws

She runs and hides here and there

All night long, seeking refuge in wild fields

to escape atrocities;

She has no bread to feed the little mouths she was forced to bear

She watches them as one by one they vanish before her eyes;

Some surrender to the safety of death, they escape the torture of life

Others live through suffering,

only to also carry unwanted pregnancies 

She is a woman who wakes up to torture every day,

She is a mother who powerlessly tries in vain to protect her children 

She cries out within her, praying God 

would end her misery;

She is a woman in need of help and compassion,

She is what the West calls 'vulnerable member of our society'

Yet she has no one to defend her rights;

She is a mother with a heart.

Memories of a Child

It began with a weird noise: 'wii-wiii'
and as it got louder, sounded like
thousands of bees' wings flying.

The door opened,
until it became widely accessible to
the outside.
Glancing towards the entrance, many shadows could be seen -
They were a multitude, their presence menacing;
it felt suffocating.

The room was a little square box,
The only furniture, a long and locked wardrobe that gave a claustrophobic tension.
I turned left, to the unoccupied space,
but mother was not there -
Father was gone, long ago too.
Little hands covered little face,
My heartbeat grew faster;
Will they get me too? 


A giant man tied my hands,
Whipping me the more I fought,
With all force, he brought me out on the street,
Dragging me along an alley;

Armed men running up and down,
Gunshots everywhere,
Bodies lying motionless;
Yesterday sister, the only one left, was gone;
Will they get me too?

His gun on my forehead all the way
through to a long dark pit,
he dropped my little body.
In the obscurity of this hole, 
only teeth could be depicted - they seemed carnivorous 
The voices around me were of sorcerers -

Loud diabolical laughter blocked my ears
as the night became more freezing, suddenly;
When I felt cold and rough hands on me,
I screamed in tears:
'Mum! Mum! Mum!'
Then I woke up and realised, 
Mum was elsewhere, and
It has been twelve years, since.

IT IS HARD TO VALUE WHAT YOU HAVEN'T FOUGHT FOR

 Today, I have thought to write this piece for all of you lovely people that I think could have done way better than what you are doing now. This piece will be like a personal account through which I hope to share with you what I have gone through and why I believe you need to be grateful for what you have.


 I had only been in the UK for a year, when I started my A Levels. I couldn't speak any good English at all, yet I took AS English as one of my subjects. Being surrounded by native speakers has been a challenge; sometimes we had to read a chapter,each, during lessons, and my accent was very distinct among others. Many times I couldn't answer my teachers because I didn't know the word in English. Often, I had to go back home and teach myself the whole lesson because I couldn't understand my teachers' English. My AS year was very challenging, more so because of the feeling of being so culturally deprived - sometimes I just felt like an alien fallen among men. Back home, in Congo, my education was always disrupted because of the constant moving to and fro different parts of Africa. In reality, I didn't have enough education to compete with a year 8 student, even.


 However, I didn't let these challenges take control of me. Rather, I had to take control of the challenges and fight until I couldn't fight anymore. I was determined, and have always been, that I wouldn't be the second best. Since my arrival in the UK, I have made sure to embrace every single opportunity presented to me: doing work experience, attending workshops, talking to different people... Above all, I have made sure to appreciate my teachers.
 In Congo, I couldn't pass my exams if my teachers weren't bribed. Here, I met teachers who are able to recognize your potential and really help you achieve the best you can. I had understood that teachers are always very willing to help the ones who are willing to learn. So I became my teachers' friend; always going to them if I didn't understand something, and always trying my best to seek advice on how to better my work. Here, there were free opportunities, and I was determined to appreciate them.


Thanks to this determination, and to all the help from my teachers and family, I finished my AS year with AAAB despite all the challenges. For someone who has had a history of such disrupted education background, this was more than a great achievement. I didn't stop there, however, I had to make sure I wouldn't lose focus during my A2 year. Up to today, I never once believe that this achievement has anything to do with me being bright, smart, intelligent, or whatever adjective I always get from my peers. With all honesty, I believe many of my classmates are way more intelligent than I can ever be. But, I do believe that the difference between me and you is that it is hard for people to value something they haven't fought for.


The first reality that overwhelmed me when I came to the UK in 2011 was to know that education is free from birth to age 18. Where I come from, we have to pay for everything from school uniform, to school equipment, to school fees from the first day we start attending. I was shocked to hear about free school meals, free oysters, free NHS and such a free access to both school and local libraries.  From my first day of school up to age 17, I had gone to a library only twice - not because I didn't want to, but simply because there was none to go to.After almost three years since I am here, I still maintain that you are very lucky to be born in a country where life has been all polished for you to just come and enjoy.


My opinion seemed to meet another reality, however. I have heard complaints from students that the teachers aren't good enough, that there aren't enough books for everyone, that we study too many hours and too many subjects, and that one should be able to choose what they want to do with their life. Whilst I don't refute these arguments, my concern today is that in arguing so, you don't realise how many opportunities you are neglecting. I have seen students not turn up for their exams because they simply didn't feel ready for them. Some have gone inside the exam room but then left all pages blank, because the exam was too stressful and they panicked.  Although there are some exceptions, I conclude today that children born in the UK simply do not realise what it really means to have all they have. You simply do not understand how much someone somewhere will give all they can to be given the chance to learn.


In the burning sun of Africa, there are children your age who wish an angel will help them pay their school fees. Yet some of you spend half the year outside college, smoking and never attending lessons. In many places in this very world, there are children just like you who walk miles to find water to drink, they spend days not knowing where food will ever come from, they witness their parents being slaughtered, they wish they could even in their dreams have access to all you have today. Yet some of you insult your parents because the pocket money isn't enough.
When you come from war-torn countries and know what life truly means, you understand that it is more than a blessing to have all the free things we have in this country. Only then, you truly know how to value what is presented to you.
I find it very surprising that the group of us students who came from abroad were more determined throughout our A Level years than natives. But then again I realised that you have always had it with you, so all is common.


To all of you young people, my message today is that everyday before you close your eye you should take a while to realise all the blessings around you. Many cry each day to be able to survive, yet you live and keep complaining. Many truly would sacrifice what they can to study, yet they have nothing to sacrifice. You are very lucky to have been born here, so please do not take life for granted. You have the chance to study, without the slightest worry of how to pay for your education. I think you all need to recognise that many do not get this chance, even though they are more willing than you to learn. They haven't done anything to deserve wars and horrors just as you haven't paid a price to live in a country that doesn't know war and where you always have what you need. If only you can realise that many wish they could take your place, you would start appreciating what you have and stop complaining all the time.

Ils sacrifièrent Leurs Vies pour que Tu La néglige

Pour qu’Elle fut écrite,

Ils sacrifièrent leurs vies

À certain il fut donner la peine de mort,

Décapités, lapidés, flagellés, pendus, brulés,

Ils devaient être

À d’autres, la tache était differente;

Ils devaient être emprisonnés injustement,

Passer par des lourdes épreuves;

Toutes ses souffrances, ils devaient endurer

Pour que cette Bible fut écrite,

Pour qu’Elle demeure éternellement,

Un Livre de Vie par le Sacrifice.

Pour La lire, ils marchèrent des milliers de kilomètres,

Sous la neige, traversant des déserts, affamés.

Pour L’avoir lu, ils furent livrés aux lions et à la mort

Pour avoir cru en Elle, ils furent martyrisés.

Le sang a coulé depuis le commencement,

Et tout le long des âges,

Pour qu’enfin aujourd’hui

Vous ayez la grâce de La posséder

Sans être mis à mort.

Apres L’avoir acheté d’une bibliothèque,

Elle trouve Sa place dans vos étagères,

Des Chrétiens formalistes, vous n’en avez besoin

que quand c’est l’heure de l’Eglise

Pire encore, vous ne reconnaissez Son importance

que devant les dangers.

Oh ! Cette Bible, ils sacrifierent leurs vies pour qu’Elle fut écrite !

Ils acceptèrent la mort pour La lire nuit et jour !

Pour les Chrétiens d’autrefois,

Elle était le Trésor le plus précieux,

La Parole Vivante du Dieu tres Haut,

L’évidence qu’Il vit !

Pour les Chrétiens d’aujourd’hui,

Ce n’est qu’un livre à posséder

Pour que l’on voit qu’ils sont Chrétiens !

Vous ne La lisez presque jamais,

Vous posez sur Elle vos sacs, vos cahiers, vos tout

Vous L’emmenez à l’Eglise,

Pour La déposer à même le sol !

Oh ! Point de respect pour cette Parole Vivante de Dieu,

Point de révérence pour un évangile qui ruisselle de sang !

Ils offrirent leurs vies en témoignage,

Pour que vous L'ayez aujourd’hui

Malgré les lourdes sentences qui leurs fut imposées,

Ils La lire et L’emportèrent partout avec eux.

Il n’y a personne pour vous interdire de La lire, aujourd’hui

Personne pour vous mettre à mort pour L’avoir lu

Et pourtant, cette facilité

A fait de vous, des Chrétien de nom.

Oh ! Si seulement vous pouviez comprendre

Combien cela a couté à tous ces personnages dans la Bible,

Vous L'auriez traitée avec respect,

Vous auriez reconnu que c’est une grâce

Que d’avoir la liberté de L’avoir et de La lire, aujourd’hui.

Plan, Structure, Act

Pen set on paper,
I stared outside the window
After pressing 'Ctrl + A, delete'
for the nth time, today

Didn't I say, I wanted to write?
No, didn't I think of writing?
Wait, I know now -
'Autonomy' was my title.

Forcing this steering wheel to take
the left exit was impossible;
the engine stopped, the wheels blocked
- it just wouldn't move -

A writer wanders wild,
lost in imagination, without inspiration
no direction to follow;
Though many 
ideas may flow in the mind.

With no audience, in mind
no purpose, no structure,
the steering wheel simply won't move 
There's got to be a plan,
Inspiration to bring enthusiasm, 
and feed the spirit with enough passion
to be patient, till the work is perfect.

Wait, what if this is more than 
just writing about writing? 
What if this whole song is 
a metaphor? 
Figure how so often you
have turned around the same roundabout,
It would have been more clearer 
which direction to take
if before you left the house
there was a definite plan,
Plan, structure, act.

Where I Come From

I travelled miles, crossing seas,

age six, then, taking planes,

forced to adapt to this system today,

and move to another tomorrow;

the mind had many teachings, at once - 

what they like to call:

Disrupted Education

I walked many miles, under the fierce sunshine

of Central and West Africa

without food in my stomach, or

money in my pocket, to go to school -

I was chased out of the classroom, because

Education isn’t for free –

I had forty-nine per cent,

Because teacher wasn’t bribed.

No day went by, without the spectacular

Violence and abuse–

Across the streets, children sleeping;

You could count each bone, without needing x-ray

A few gathered around a computer, as if

it was a gift sent from heavens

others simply opened their eyes, when

they saw mayonnaise; it was here I came from.

Teachers taught us all the riches

that lay beneath our fertile land,

then a fire began to burn – within me –

There were fathers, mothers, humans,

with brains, reason, enough ability to change

our situation

why then did my neighbour die,

because she lacked ten dollars to pay?

Many preferred to die at home, rather than go to hospitals –

Healthcare system, a chaos.

It was then, a fire began to burn - within me –

I saw a young little girl, forced to flee the rain

but sent into the ocean – raped

without justice taking place – nobody cared,

they didn’t tell her to leave her homeland.

Families parted, not knowing what fate reserved –

Children deprived of their mothers,

Women humiliated, men barbecued –

Here there were loud thunders,

But humanity has built long walls –

Nobody heard these cries.

It was when I left that I realised;

Injustice is high.

I see bins full of meat, I hear

Stories of lives full of opportunities,

I realise this world is – unfair –

Some bring ethical concerns –

They like to classify the case as complex,

National laws must be respected, they say

But why do they then interfere with the creation

of changeable constitutions,

and applaud exploiting governments?

The laws change as society changes,

But how can our laws change, when

our society still remains the same?

It was the same curriculum, my grand-father studied

the same poems I studied in school.

It was the same hospitals back in 1960, only

now they look more like gas chambers.

Where I come from, there are people

with hearts crying to see humanity

give back to humans their basic rights –

But where I come from, there are rulers;

Blind to human suffering, deaf to cries –

Insensible to a mother’s pain.

Where I come from, there are fathers, mothers,

brothers and sisters

with brains fully functioning, only,

jobs are for the privileged few.

 Where I come from, there is a vast and fertile land

with enough to give my children a bright tomorrow

But where I come from, motherland

Has become a private property

of a few people who deny us our rights,

who have made it clear that as long as they

continue to rule, there is no future for my children.

Where I come from, my homeland deserves

Peace  -

But where I come from, the story is told differently.

 

 

 

 

 

TRIPLET

Planted in the West, a tree saw,
Three branches,
rest on its main stem.
With distinct directions, they faced;
The Central, the South, and the North,
Life in all three, originated from the Root. 

Without them, this tree looked
like a gigantesque ghost -
the beauty of this tree, depended on
the atmosphere they created around,
under their cool shelter, many 
came to reside, 

Their uniform colour - symbol of their identity,
began to blur, in Autumn.
Death was knocking at their door - 
Each blamed the other, for not
resisting the Climate Change -
All birds flew away,
All communion, forgotten; 
They demanded that the tree
be cut off, for their protection. 

This tree had to stand,
right here and face; all intemperies -
it had to cross dryness, till
The next season -
But three branches were not prepared, to support. 

It was enough, when winter came - 
The three branches could
not accept to take on them,
all the winds inflicted on the tree;
it was against death, the tree was fighting - struggling to let life go 
back to the Root;

If it kept them, they would
keep blaming the tree;
right now it needed to focus on
how to pass winter - resist trials
This tree loved these three branches;
without them it looked lifeless -
but now it was best, to let them fall off -

Now, it faced scared looks of people, 
it looked horrifying at night - 
deep down the tree knew, life was secured in the heart;
It had spared its friends - one by one, 
in the same week, they fell off the stem;

The tree knows; after winter, 
there will be a beautiful restoration;
after it has been formed by tempest and trials,
and has received a teaching from life and its rhythms, 
Friends more loyal and more faithful,
will come-
It will be given to this tree - branches that will not dread winter,
but will help the tree remain.

LA GUERRE

J'entends les cris de pleurs; la voie des milliers de litres de sang que
tu as fait couler monte jusqu'à moi.
A cause de ce que tu as fais, des coeurs brisés par
la douleur sont sans espoir.
La désolation et la crainte règnent dans ta présence.
Tu sèmes la terreur à ton avancée sur l'échelle planétaire.
Tu es la réalisation des pensées nuisibles et,
L'oeuvre des mains des hommes de mauvaise foi. Tu es,
L'accomplissement de la prophétie de Dieu;
Ton nom est la guerre.
Tu sert à satisfaire des motifs injustes des puissants de ce monde.
Au regard rétrospectif, je vois qu'inombrables sont
ceux qui succombèrent à tes lames. Au son de tes fusils et
à l'effroyable largage de tes bombes; hommes, femmes, et enfants y passèrent.
Le soleil dans sa splendeur apparait et déshydrate la terre, toi
tu étanches sa soif en lui offrant le sang de ses habitants pour eau à boire. Tu enivres
la terre par le vin rouge du sang. Quelqu'en soit la cause de ton déclenchement, les résultats ne sont que néfastes et nuisibles jusque là.

By: Elie K Mutombo