D1 English Literature and Language students have composed their own poems in response to Kipling’s The White Man’s Burden. This creative work accompanies their study of the novel Purple Hibiscus by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie.
    	
  	By: Jennifer Gatheca
    	Our land is ours!
  	You seek nothing but to exploit it
  	Passed on from our ancestors it was
  	From the high mountains to the low valleys
  	Even when you come to devour them, you too are in awe
    	You claim you have come to save us
  	But we whom you call savage and foolish know of your plans
  	For ages we have lived in harmony
  	We shall not stand for manipulation and cruelty
    	Our land is ours!
  	We do not need your help
  	Send back your sons, for they will meet with resistance
  	All because we join hands in unity and solidarity
  	To fight against your supposed assistance
  	Our land is ours
  	And we shall fight for it ‘til the very end!
    	By: Makeya Van
    	The white man in Africa,
  	A gift from the Gods.
  	What he has done,
  	I can’t help but applaud.
    	An unsung hero,
  	Forced his power on these nations,
  	Through exploitation, murder and rape,
  	Brought an entire continent into devastation.
    	The white man in Africa,
  	He was just trying to be nice,
  	How else would these ‘pagan animals’
  	Be civilised without any strife?
    	He embarked on a long, treacherous journey,
  	To a land so foreign and discrete,
  	How did he tackle the lions, the cheetahs,
  	The scorching African heat?
    	The white man in Africa,
  	Whisked away gold and oil like a magician,
  	But would you like a stranger
  	Taking all your things without permission?
    	Taking your home, your dignity,
  	Enforcing his rules on your life.
  	Ignoring your fearful kindness,
  	And doing as he liked.
    	The white man in Africa,
  	I can understand his intentions,
  	But there is one thing so foolish,
  	A claim beyond my comprehension:
    	To call it a burden,
  	To make yourself the victim?
  	While you destroyed so many cultures
  	By imposing your ‘perfect system’.
    	By: Joan William Ritte
    	I yearn for something
  	More than what had before
  	Wine?
  	Beads?
  	Silk?
  	No, not that
    	Though never put to mouth
  	I can taste it
  	So close yet far
    	Papa died in agony
  	Searching for it
  	His time came
  	Before he found it
  	I don’t want to end like papa
    	It’s sold they say
  	At high price
  	I saved for it
  	When thought it’s enough
  	I went to shop
  	“Sir, it’s not enough,
  	Give us what you have, go get more”
    	For it’s sweetness
  	My land deed I gave
  	Labour I gave
  	Sweat I sweat
  	More coin I saved and gave
    	“Sorry Sir not  yet enough”
  	Huh!? Now what
  	For mercy I pleaded
  	For discount to be given
  	Much to dismay, it was never given.
    	One thing I noticed
  	Every time I went
  	The shopkeeper got fatter
    	I’m not alone
  	Many did same
  	Many will do same
  	Yet nothing to get
  	Refund non-existent
  	It will never be enough
  	What else should we give
  	For all is left is breath.