Africa

Out of our Mother’s greatness, we now stand, prodigal sons ashamed to return to the village of our birth;

Out of our father’s immense power, as we once stood as Nananom[1] and Ahemaa[2], we now stand weak, struggling to rise up with every sin-fueled step;

Out of regal ceremonial cloth, we now stand, stripped naked to the skin;

Out of gold palanquins[3] carried high above our festive villages, we now stand, stooped in disgrace;

Out of conquering Kingdoms we once ruled, we now stand, lonely huts on the banks of rebellious rivers;

Out of you Africa, we now stand, repented children yearning to restore you to your glorious throne.