Last Sunday (May 5th) the Dutch celebrated their liberation of the German oppression during the Second World War. I have to admit I was not quite aware as it was a busy day. But this past week I took some time to reflect on Freedom and was touched by the following poem of the Senegalese poet David Diop. I’ve taken my best shot in translating it into English:
He who lost all
The sun shone in my hut
And my wives were pretty and lithe
Like the palm trees under the evening breeze.
My children slid down the big river
On de depths of death
And my canoes fought the crocodiles.
The moon, motherly, accompanied our dances
The frantic and sultry rhythm of the drums,
Drum of joy, drum of airiness
In the midst of the fires of freedom.
Until one day, the Silence…
The sunrays seem to fade
In my meaningless hut.
My wives crushed their reddened mouths
On the thin, hard lips of the conquerors with steel eyes
And my children left their peaceful nudity
For the garment of iron and blood.
Your voice is also silent
The shackles of slavery tore my heart
Drums of my nights, drums of my fathers.
David Diop (1927 – 1960)
The first stanza of this poem describes almost tangibly the idyll of the Senegalese rural life. As we all have a certain vision of the ideal relaxed life; enjoying the evening sun with the people we love.
In Senegal, colonialism and slave trade extinguished the fire of liberty. With the same tangibility Diop conveys the horror of these events. This second stanza makes my stomach cringe with disgust and shame. Diop does not speak of the suffering directly caused to the “I person”, but he describes how the people who are dearest to him, his wives and children, were humiliated. My voice is stilled as well, because there’s a lump in my throat and my eyes are filled with tears.
The past sometimes detains the present, so past bondage can still affect the present freedom. Freedom, dignity, justice, it should be inviolable.
This is the original (feel free to comment my choices in translating ;-))
Celui qui a tout perdu
Le soleil brillait dans ma case
Et mes femmes étaient belles et souples
Comme les palmiers sous la brise des soirs.
Mes enfants glissaient sur le grand fleuve
Aux profondeurs de mort
Et mes pirogues luttaient avec les crocodiles.
La lune, maternelle, accompagnait nos danses
Le rythme frénétique et lourd du tam-tam,
Tam-tam de la joie, tam-tam de l’insouciance
Au milieu des feux de liberté.
Puis un jour, le Silence…
Les rayons du soleil semblèrent s’éteindre
Dans ma case vide de sens.
Mes femmes écrasèrent leurs bouches rougies
Sur les lèvres minces et dures des conquérants aux yeux d’acier
Et mes enfants quittèrent leur nudité paisible
Pour l’uniforme de fer et de sang.
Votre voix s’est éteinte aussi
Les fers de l’esclavage ont déchiré mon coeur
Tams-tams de mes nuits, tam-tams de mes pères.
David Diop (1927 – 1960)
