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I have heard people declaim
That Africa is the dark continent
Plagued by war, sickness and famine
The aridity of such a claim
Has left my people to pine.

Yes, I grant through the years,
Africa has suffered from war, famine, and sickness.
Yet, dear reader, is it Africa alone?
From East to West,
Death has reared himself a throne.
I beseech thee, O reader, let thy ear be attentive
To the confessions of Robin.
For these declamations
Have led many into error. 

It is not my intention
To absolve Africa of her share of the blame
Yet my beloved continent, 
Is both home to the good and the bad
The best and the worst
Why then dwell only, on all that is base.
Lineal son of Africa that I am
My heart bleeds - 
Seeing that the soothsayers and naysayers
Are moving among our villages and cities
Congesting our airwaves
Shamefully declaring
That the Ides of March have come
Unlike Caesar, I dare - reply that they haven’t come and will never come!
For mine experiences have taught me a lot of things
And I dare you to discard that label hoary
Coined many and many years ago by many a missionary.
Allow me then to tell you Africa’s story
For that is my sole ambition. 

Of her past glory
I will say no more
For the pyramids of Egypt will testify for eternity
The Great Zimbabwe Ruins
Stand tall and erect in the Savannah plains
A monument to the greatness of their builders
Don’t you dare believe that fable
Told to many a school boy in colonial Africa days gone by
That mine ancestors could not create such a piece of art
Just go to my village this day
And you will see many stonehouses standing
A testimony to our heritage. 
Her natural beauty is second to none
Heaven, excluded - for I am talking to men not angels.

Since I am weary 
Let me tarry. God willing will continue tomorrow!

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