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Portrait of The Moran on a Safari Van
They don't paint an academic cap on his head
Nor his body wrap with an academic gown
Though many now traverse the universe of knowledge-
Only ochre-coloured braids, the ubiquitous red shuka
Covering the sun-scorched bare limbs and body; a
Caricatured clown, with lacerated ears, standing on one leg
A spear and knobkerry in his right hand, a sword slinging
On his hip reminds us of his past war-like reputation
That sustained the stereotypical savage of the savannah.
Around him, stand too, caricatures of the big five
To enhance his stature as one-plus of nature an' culture
From which they seduce gullible west out of their dollar.
Today everybody knows him, his story spread everywhere
His red shuka, beaded jewellery and knobkerry, his star-studded shield
Are souvenirs for celebrities, kings and queens, a global kind of dialogue
Ensues to stereotype his culture, caucasian
Women fantasized him as a great love maker,
My kindred nourishes his appetite for money,
Impersonates him as he lures the alert-eared platoon of tourists.
But no matter how behind he could be, we need the dollar
That comes from the resourcesful savannah where he dwells
To build the tarmac road to the civilized highlands.
