A poem in Swahili and English by Ben Munyao [with audio]

This is the first in a series of bilingual poetry here on Wordflower!

Kabla ya mapambano

by Benjamin Munyao

Usiku unaposhuka juu ya kijiji,
mwezi hunong’ona majina ya waliotutangulia.
Upepo hupita kwenye miti,
ukibeba siri za mababu na machozi ya mama.

Nilizaliwa mahali ambapo udongo ni mwekundu,
ambapo jua huwaka kama moto,
na watoto hujifunza kutabasamu
hata wakati njaa imekaa mezani.

Nilitembea njia ndefu bila ramani,
nikibeba ndoto mfukoni,
na hofu moyoni.
Wengi waliniambia,
“Usiku ni mrefu, mtoto wa Afrika.”
Lakini sikujua kukata tamaa.

Niliona mito ikikauka,
milima ikinyamaza,
na nyumba zikibeba huzuni.
Lakini ndani ya kila jivu
niliona cheche ndogo ya kesho.

Mama aliniambia,
“Usiogope giza.
Mwangaza huanza moyoni.”

Maneno yake yakawa taa yangu.

Leo ninapotazama nyuma,
naona nyayo zangu kwenye vumbi,
na kila jeraha lililoacha alama
limekuwa ukurasa wa hadithi yangu.

Sijafika mwisho.
Bado ninaenda.
Bado ninaota.

Kwa sababu Afrika yangu
si bara la maumivu pekee;
ni bara la sauti,
la mizizi,
la upendo,
na watu wanaoinuka tena
kila wanapoanguka.

Na siku moja,
watoto watakapouliza
kwa nini tulivumilia,
nitawajibu:

Tulivumilia kwa sababu tuliamini
kuwa baada ya usiku mrefu,
alfajiri lazima ifike.

Before the struggle

by Benjamin Munyao

When night descends upon the village,
the moon whispers the names of those who came before us
The wind moves through the trees,
carrying ancestral secrets and a mother’s tears.

I was born where the soil is red,
where the sun burns like fire,
and children learn to smile
even when hunger sits at the table.

I walked a long road without a map,
carrying dreams inside my pocket
and fear inside my heart.
Many told me,
“The night is long, African child.”
But I never learned surrender.

I watched rivers disappear,
mountains fall silent,
and houses carry sorrow.
Yet inside every handful of ashes,
I saw a small spark of tomorrow.

My mother told me,
“Do not fear darkness.
Light begins inside the heart.”

Her words became my lamp.

Today, when I look behind me,
I see my footprints in the dust,
and every wound that left a mark
has become a page of my story.

I have not reached the end.
I am still walking.
I am still dreaming.

Because my Africa
is not only a continent of pain;
it is a continent of voices,
of roots,
of love,
and of people who rise again
whenever they fall.

And one day,
when children ask
why we endured,
I will answer them:

We endured because we believed
that after the longest night,
dawn must come.

Words copyright to Benjamin Munyao 2026

For more by this author:

• read his articles at https://growing-the-future.org/
• visit his blog https://benmunyacom.wordpress.com/
• buy his book One step through the fire (highly recommended!)

Cover photo by Darryl de Lange on Pexels.com

Please consider submitting your own bilingual poetry for the series!

Call out for poetry in languages other than English