I remember when I heard it,
When they discussed it on those talking boxes,
When I saw it on those visual boxes.
When it dominated the sermons,
When even my old man said it before dying.
They said it
Yes, they said it.
That, it's happened in the east,
In the north, south and west.
Even when the Napoleons gathered,
They went on and on with it.
That he's done it there,
And that it comes with the wind.
Alas, the day arrived,
grew and retired.
I listened, watched, waited and waited some more.
Where was it?
Yes, where was it?
Oh I remember when they talked about Zimbabwe,
How beautiful and prosperous an economy it was
And how elections had turned it into a quagmire,
And that it was coming Mama's way.
But I thought elections were about ballots,
My siblings thought so too.
So those who played the drums
Saw dancers who wanted a different tune
A tune so un-Zimbabwe-like.
"The Wrong Dance" is part three of our five-part series of poems by Ghanaians on Zimbabwe. To read all contributions to the series so far, click here.
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