The Cry Of The Ancestors

We have toiled for a nation we love and willed as a better place for our great children and great grandchildren. We your ancestors were friends of death. We were never separated even in our quest to fight our independence. Even when “death” was presented to us as the means by which our independence would come, we did not hesitate. We embraced death with happiness, fought forward till the last drop of blood from our blood streams drained.

You whom we fought for, we thought you will follow in our steps to now fight for your brothers; but you are rather fighting them with your corrupt attitudes. You have instead, drained the wealth of the nation for your personal gains; the wealth which we left for you. We your ancestors crawled on our knees before our perpetrators. We went naked to be whipped by them just because we wouldn’t stop fighting for our independence and yours. But what did we labour for? What did we shed our blood to gain? Were we not victims of death and did our dying not become the means for independence? What have you done? To what direction are you driving the nation? Are you not moving from the round board of independence onto the floor of dependence? Did we not teach you how to be self-reliant and feed your neighbours? What have you done? We are wailing, but what can wipe our tears and comfort us is just for you to turn from the direction you’re going; come back to what we intended, the ideals for which we died.

You are working but none of your working gears is dirty. You are working but your work is not bearing any fruit. We worked so hard that our sweat was bloody. We worked so hard in the scorching sun that our bodies’ colours described truly who we were; blacks. We were born just the same way you were. But you have been fortunate to meet something called freedom; a word that runs through your laws and is always in your mouth. But have you not gained consciousness of losing your freedom because you’re no longer walking on the platform of independence; a treasure we shed our blood for.

Are you not aware of your late kid brothers and sisters who had to shed their blood at the expense of independence because their nursing mothers were busy fighting for this collective shared interest? Even babies had it on their minds to fight for the freedom of the yet unborn. What have you done? Many of us died at gun shots and even specifically, some on the Christiansburg crossroad. But now this same gun shots are prohibited. We had to be shot to make it prohibited. Have you considered how many of our brothers and sisters who had to undergo oppressive hardships due to the grabby few people among us.

Have you no pity for Ghana? You walk on our blood every day and that saves you from slipping. Our blood have been used to glue the land on which you walk and live. What do you want us to do as ancestors? Even in the under-world, we have mixed our bones and body with the land to make it fertile in order that you may not go hungry. Today you have many minerals including oil: but we had to let our mortal remains to mix up with the soil for the oil you now discover to be possible. Even in the under-world, we are still fighting for you. But what do we see, what do we hear? We slap our stomachs not in regret for what we fought for but how the people are wailing for help.

We died because we were attached to our country though that is what was right for us to do. We died to give you rebirth, to give you identities as Ghanaians: a people of freedom with what it takes to be self-reliant. But none of you want to be associated with the name “Ghana.” Your ways make us weep. Just listen to our cries and change as a mother would cry for change for her children going wayward.

We need you to go back to the training we gave. We will continue to talk to you.

Hear the cry of our ANCESTORS is a series of the concerns I bring to you from our ancestors. What they feel, their anxieties, their discomfort, and their expectations from us is what I communicate on their behalf as their messenger to you.

Information about the writer:
Emmanuel Graham Nyameke (student)
St. Peter’s Regional Seminary, Pedu-Cape Coast

Contact: 0545906574\ 0205847024