Naija Poetry | Africa, My Motherland

Ayomide Raji

Biography: Raji Ayomide Olaitan, known as King of Rhymes, is a Nigerian poet, spoken word artist, author, animator, and certified drone pilot. He grew up in the jungle city known as ajegunle. He is the Founder/CEO of King of Rhymes Poetry Hub and TechRise Coding Hub, platforms dedicated to empowering young creatives and training youths in digital and tech skills. He serves as the Global Teenage Tribe Leader of the African Writers Tribe, where he mentors and inspires young writers across Africa. His work blends poetry, storytelling, animation, and digital creativity to deliver powerful, emotional, and visually engaging art. King of Rhymes is a voice, a movement, and a rising force in African creativity. Subscribe. Listen. Feel. Rise.

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Ayomide Raji

Monday 8 December 2025

Africa, My Motherland

Africa, my mother, my heartbeat, my blood,

You rise with the sun, golden and proud,

Even when chains try to bind your wrists,

Even when storms threaten your shores,

You remain a song, ancient and loud.

Your soil smells of history,

Of kingdoms, warriors, queens, and kings,

Of rivers that remember the footsteps

Of ancestors whose voices still sing.

Yet, oh Africa, I see your pain.

Your children dey struggle for life,

Their eyes dey heavy with hunger,

Their hands dey empty,

But their spirits dey fight, dey resist.

Your cities dey grow like weeds in concrete,

Noise dey loud, but wisdom dey hidden,

Electricity dey scarce like miracle,

Water dey fight like it no wan flow,

Yet you dey proud,

You dey shine,

Even when your leaders dey chop your future.

I hear your drums call,

I feel your heartbeat in every step I take,

Omo mi, I no fit run from you,

Even when your nights dey dark,

Your stars dey show me hope,

Say one day your children go rise,

One day your rivers go flow free,

One day your hands go build not beg,

One day your soil go feed not bury.

Africa, my mother,

You be both lullaby and battle cry,

I go sing for you,

Even when the world dey deaf,

Even when we dey lost,

I go raise my voice,

Say your story no go die.

E dey bleed? Yes, but e dey breathe.

E dey cry? Yes, but e dey smile.

Omo mi, Africa,

Na you be my rhythm,

Na you be my blood,

Na you be my roots, my wings,

I carry you for my mouth, for my pen,

For every poem wey I write.

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