By John Penn de Ngong



The Black Christs of Africa


You, O saviours, I salute,

With due honours absolute

To you, whether here on earth,

Or who weather there in the hearth.


No vain salvation with blood.

We the heirs of your vein flood

Believe our crises have been atoned

By you our Christs that have been stoned.


Being black is not being blank.

Our Herods crucified our heroes,

But their Bloc can’t block the Blacks’.

Hail Martyrs, to heaven your souls sail.


As we here in Africa

Remain heir in a free care,

Our redeemers, it’s you we owe;

Our Motherland, it’s you we own.


The Blood Donors of Africa


The donors of blood

Are redeemers of life,

Of patients who cry flood,

In bitter search for sweet life.

Before they get floored

On their earth death beds, they strive


For s/he that drains his own veins

To irrigate the dry life,

Is not a saviour in vain.

Our land is a hospital of strife,

Where bloody war vans

Are burned with a million donors of life.


Blood is the cocoon of life,

And s/he that offers blood,

Donates with it his own life.

The rivers and floods of blood,

With multitudes of Christly life,

Have redeemed our beloved Bilhad





St. John Garang


His name is John,

Who baptized us with blood

And fire of nationalism in the Nile.


A practical Pastor,

Who preached the message of peace,

And unity on the podium of justice.


A professional Doctor,

Who prescribed medicines of freedom

Against indignity and serfdom

On our own soil.


A firm farmer,

Who sowed seeds of prosperity,

And self-determination for posterity,

With a nuclear tractor.


A gallant General,

Who led a resistance against the wall of Jericho,

And felled it down,

With a hundredfold armies by thousandfold enemies.

The Black Christ of Africa,


 Prophet Moses II,

Martin Luther King III,

 John the Baptist II,

 Beheaded for being big-headed

Against illegitimate inheritance of our Mother.


St. John II is whole alive,

For heroes do not die,

They – into political hibernation – dive

And – in historical metamorphosis – lie

In an actively fossilized volcanic ambush,

To erupt into another hero in arms or bush.


Saint John Garang,

A political martyr and missionary,

Sent John Garang,

A historical revolutionary and visionary.

Sudan will never be the same again,

Said John Garang.



Nailson Man-dela


Abandoned, the Blacks became abundant and

Redundant. He saw them resorting to their socio-economic

Idol worshipping as they were damn

Idle. Yet their miserable life that had

Cordoned them off into their health-gagged ghettos was

Condoned by their overwhelmingly wealth-gagged geckos.


Reasons, as such, made him braved

Prisons, where he met his comrades

Rot. For the very cause, he did

Not surrender to the racial abuse of

Apartheid, whose architects’ political

Appetite was the Blacks’ gaping abyss.


Nelson Mandela was the native African

Nail sown under the suppressive exotic cushion.

Because he was annoyed with the unholy spread of Afrikaan racism,

Of course he was anointed with the oily spirit of African nationalism,

Rust or rot never destroyed his vision and mission in captivity as he did

Trust not the harmnesty from the faces of the fascists and racists.


Downloaded his roles from our African Dinosaurs

                     –Nailson Man-dela –

Uploaded these roles to our African die-innocents.

Hail Samora Machel.

Hail John Garang de Mabior, and all the

Black martyrs of Africa, the

Black Christs of Africa.


Martin Luther King II


Martin Luther is King.

He’s not a losers’ king.

The seeds of freedom he has sown,

The seat of reformation he has shown,

Like the White Martin, Luther I

Who filtered Protestantism from Catholicism,

The Black Martin, Luther II

Fostered protectionism against Racism.


It was from his footstep

That Rosa Park

Rose not to pack

For a white passenger.

Turning into a wild messenger,

She defied the white man

And defined the black man

In the history of mankind in America

With the story of man coming from Africa.


It was from her footstep

That women put a fullstop

To mark their marginalization,

To make their realization

In the world all of a sudden.

Like the Katipa Banat of Sudan,

The women battalions,

Warrior wives of battle lions,

Who played their roles in the fights,

Paid and paved the way for their rights.




Who killed him

Has not him killed.

‘Twas his nation

By his notion.


Not just assassination,

‘Tis an assassin-nation,

A painful assassin-notion,

With unjust expel-a-nation,


Tagged with political investingation,

Coz he took an irreversible dierection.

Those who click crocodile tears,

May they lick crocked-dialed tears

                                         For years.




The Lion of Jubah


In his days came

The Lion of Judah,

Armed with peace and justice,

A lawyer-cum-liberator of Judah,

To lift off the yoke of law

From adulteresses on the list of stoning,

To see free his people

From the spi-ritual yoke of slavery.

Though his sole was nailed,

His soul was hailed.

His mission today we enjoin,

His vision tomorrow we’ll enjoy,

Continued by his flag bearer,

The Holy Guest.


First was a Lion of Israel,

The great liberator-cum- prophet,

Who roared in the face of Pharaoh,

And offloaded the boulders of pyramids

From his people in serfdom in Egypt.

He led them across the Reed Sea,

Into the Promised Land of freedom in Israel,

Though his body crashed on Mount Carmel,

His vision, his mission rush in his people,

Furthered by his flag bearer, Joshua.


In our days exists

The Lion of Jubah,

The Lion of Nubah,

The Lion of the Nile,

To relieve his people

Of the buckets of human dung,

Of the yoke of slave trade,

To batter serfdom with his knife,

To barter freedom with his life.

His vision and mission,

Our chronic drunkenness,

Refueled by spirit of nationalism,

Championed by our Joshua,

Gen. Solver or Sulpha-Quine,


In the Israelites’ days lived

Other lions of Judah,

On the obverse side of the coin,

With the adverse side of the toil.

Those Judases of Judah,

Once furnished with flakes,

Were punished with plagues,

Or the cheated earth opened its mouth

And swallowed them

Before they opened their mouths

And swallowed her.

Lo, Judases of Jubah,

Armed with teeth of injustice,

Once furnished with cornflakes,

And punished with conflicts,

Behold and be warned,

Shouldn’t you shut your mouths,

The Promised Land will send her moths.