"An African Elegy" is the title poem of Nigerian-British writer Ben Okri's 1997 collection An African Elegy. In this poem, a speaker addresses all the people of Africa, telling them that—in spite of their sufferings—they are beloved, and that their glorious future will make their past troubles shine in a different light. One of Africa's greatest gifts, this poem suggests, is a culture built on a joy in life and a persistent faith that pain can transform into beauty.
The poem's speaker addresses the people of Africa, saying that they are all God's precious miracles, born to patiently endure the slow, painful passing of time. One day, the speaker says, Africa's sufferings will transform into great glories.
Some things that hurt now, the speaker goes on, look beautiful and valuable in happier times. The speaker asks their listeners: can you perceive the mystery of our shared pain? The people of Africa endure poverty, the speaker says, but are still able to make music and savor sweet dreams.
They never turn their backs on the beauties of the world—the warm air, delicious fruit, the soft reflection of light in water. Even through suffering and unspeakable troubles, the people of Africa bless the world's good things.
This, the speaker continues, is why African music is so lovely: it captures beauties and sufferings that the world would otherwise forget. Wonderful miracles are being prepared—secretly for now, but with time, they'll emerge. The speaker says that they've heard the dead singing.
In their songs, the speaker says, the dead say that life is good. They tell the speaker to live gently, passionately, and hopefully, for the world is full of wonder and surprises, and unseen forces are always moving beneath the surface of the world. The ocean itself sings; the sky is kindly; fate is a friend to the people of Africa.
In "An African Elegy," an African speaker delivers a message of hope and joy to the people of their whole continent. Africa, the speaker says, has suffered greatly. But all that suffering has taught its people to live happy, passionate, hopeful lives. To be African, in this poem, is to take part in a culture of optimism and daily pleasure—and to know in one's bones how to rise above a sea of troubles.
Africa, the poem's speaker says, has endured much suffering, grappling with widespread "poverty" and "pain." But these troubles, in this speaker's view, are just the temporary trials and tribulations of a chosen people. The people of Africa, the speaker declares, "are the miracles that God made / To taste the bitter fruit of Time": God, in other words, made the continent and its people so that they could struggle slowly through trials, making their way bit by bit toward a beautiful future.
The "mystery of our pain," the speaker says, is that in spite of Africa's sufferings, its people continue to "sing and dream sweet things": they hang on to joy and hope, in other words. Awaiting the day when "Time," after long workings, will bring about "secret miracles" that will heal the continent, they take pleasure in the simple goodness of life. "Even in [their] pain," the speaker says, the people of Africa "never curse the air when it is warm / Or the fruit when it tastes so good": they never lose sight of life's beauty.
African identity, in this poem, is born of an essential optimism, a capacity to find pleasure in the midst of pain and to trust that the "unseen" is working away behind the scenes to bring about better times. Such an attitude to life, the speaker suggests, runs so deep in the African experience that it transcends the borders between nations—and the borders between life and death, for that matter. Even Africa's "dead," the speaker says, "tell me that / This life is good." If this poem is an "Elegy," then (a lament for the dead), it's a hopeful and redemptive one: the dead don't just lie silent here, but sing back to the speaker, offering reassurance that all will be well.
This poem's optimistic speaker, addressing all the people of Africa with a prophetic message, declares that the continent's troubles have deep meaning. Rather than merely claiming that those troubles will one day vanish, this speaker argues that they will one day be transformed: everything that looks painful now will one day shine "golden," transmuted into beauty by the "secret" workings of the "unseen." Pain, in this speaker's mystical view, isn't driven out or repaid by joy. Rather, it mysteriously turns into joy.
"There are things that burn me now," the speaker reflects, "that turn golden when I am happy." In other words, some kinds of suffering don't just stop hurting when better times come. Rather, seen in a new light, those sufferings start to look both beautiful and valuable. This, the speaker believes, will be the case for all of Africa's troubles. "One day," they declare, "our suffering / Will turn into the wonders of the earth." The speaker here lays out a faith that Africa's pain won't merely go away or be healed. Instead, it will mysteriously transform into something new and glorious.
In this speaker's vision of the world, then, pain isn't something to be pushed away, but a "mystery" building up to "secret miracles." Though Africa suffers now, the speaker proclaims, the people of the whole continent can have faith that "destiny is our friend"—and that they themselves are "miracles that God made," in the hands of a loving deity who will make beauty from their suffering.
We are the ...
... of the earth.
As "An African Elegy" begins, the poem's speaker addresses a huge audience: all the people of Africa, a continent's worth of listeners. The speaker's impassioned words to them sound like something from a sermon. "We," the speaker begins, "are the miracles that God made"; "we are precious."
This, then, is an address from an African speaker to an African audience, honoring an African way of being—an identity that, in this speaker's view, transcends the borders of nations. African-ness, here, is a big, diverse identity—but also a unifying one, and one to be proud of. To be African, this speaker suggests, is to be one of a chosen people, to be a miracle made by God.
But, as the title reveals, this poem isn't just a celebration of African identity. It's also an "Elegy," a lament. Sorrow creeps into the poem from the second line. Listen to the meaningful enjambment here:
We are the miracles that God made
To taste the bitter fruit of Time.
The first line of the poem seems as if it's going to be a stand-alone declaration. But in fact, the idea goes on. God made these miraculous people for something: for a long hard struggle, to "taste the bitter fruit of Time."
One can read the metaphor of the "bitter fruit of Time" in a couple of different ways:
Either way, the metaphor suggests that the people of Africa have suffered and struggled for a long, long time (as any reader familiar with the past several hundred years of world history will agree: from European colonialism to slavery to war to famine, Africa has indeed suffered). This "Elegy" will lament that fact. But it will also offer a mystical message of hope. For "one day," the speaker goes on, "our suffering / Will turn into the wonders of the earth." The speaker doesn't simply claim, then, that Africa's sufferings will be healed or go away or be somehow compensated. They suggest that, mysteriously, those sufferings will "turn into" wonders, becoming glories that no one can yet imagine.
This prophetic poem is written in quiet, thoughtful free verse. While it doesn't use rhyme or meter, its regular cinquains (or five-line stanzas) unfold the speaker's vision of a glorious African redemption at a measured and stately pace, making the speaker sound calm and certain.
There are things ...
... dream sweet things
Unlock all 306 words of this analysis of Lines 6-10 of “An African Elegy,” and get the Line-by-Line Analysis for every poem we cover.
Plus so much more...
Get LitCharts A+And that we ...
... them in silence.
That is why ...
... the dead singing.
And they tell ...
... the unseen moves.
The ocean is ...
... is our friend.
The first metaphor in "An African Elegy" appears in the poem's opening lines:
We are the miracles that God made
To taste the bitter fruit of Time.
Already, there's something both specific and mysterious going on here. The taste of "bitter fruit" is instantly imaginable: God, the speaker suggests, has not prepared a pleasant meal for the chosen people of Africa. But on reflection, the idea that the people of Africa were made "to taste the bitter fruit of Time" might mean more than one thing:
Either way, this is a hard meal to swallow. The speaker's listeners will need to be patient and to endure much bitter suffering to get to the shining future the speaker imagines for them.
But that bitterness, other metaphors suggest, will sweeten one day. As the speaker says in lines 6-7:
There are things that burn me now
Which turn golden when I am happy.
Here, the speaker mixes metaphors in a surprising, suggestive way:
The idea that burning might have value turns up again later on in the poem, when the speaker hears the dead singing. They tell the speaker not just to live "gently" and "with hope," but "with fire"—perhaps a hint at how that transformation from pain into gold might come about. Fire, here, is a metaphor not for pain but for passion, deep feeling. The two might be more closely allied than one would suspect. (After all, the oldest meaning of the word "passion" is "suffering.")
Further metaphors suggest that the people the speaker addresses don’t have to wait for these redemptive transformations all alone. Besides the friendly spirits of the dead, the poem's very world is animate. "The sky is not an enemy," the speaker says, but a friend to the people of Africa; "destiny is our friend," too. The "ocean is full of songs," just as the dead are—and Time itself pitches in to help the "secret miracles at work" in the world, preparing beautiful transformations that people can't even begin to imagine yet. These personifications suggest that humanity doesn't struggle alone: the world is both alive and kindly, and everything works together toward an ultimate mysterious good.
Unlock all 271 words of this analysis of Imagery in “An African Elegy,” and get the poetic device analyses for every poem we cover.
Plus so much more...
Get LitCharts A+Select any word below to get its definition in the context of the poem. The words are listed in the order in which they appear in the poem.
An "elegy" is a poem of lament, often composed for a funeral. This "African Elegy" thus laments the sufferings of a whole continent—while also presenting an optimistic vision of unimaginable glories yet to come for that continent's people.
"An African Elegy" is written in six cinquains (or five-line stanzas) of free verse. In a poem without rhyme or a regular meter, the steady pattern of five lines per stanza gives the speaker's voice a measured gravity. Making their way through those five thoughtful lines at a time, the speaker sounds unrushed and assured as they deliver their message of hope, endurance, and quiet joy.
In its title, the poem describes itself as an "Elegy," a lament for the dead, and Africa's dead indeed play an important role here. But rather than the speaker singing to the dead, the dead sing to the speaker: past generations of Africans reach out in song to assure the speaker that, in spite of all its travails, "this life is good."
If this poem is an elegy, then, it's an unusually joyous one. While the speaker quietly mourns centuries of suffering all across Africa, they also present a transcendent vision of an African future in which pain and loss will alchemize into "golden" beauties.
"An African Elegy" is written in free verse. Because there's no set meter here, the poem gets its rhythms from line length and stanza breaks. For the most part, the poem's lines are fairly regular in length, moving along at a gentle, thoughtful pace. From time to time, though, the speaker introduces short, emphatic lines that hang in the air for a moment, emphasizing moments of deep feeling or conviction.
Listen, for instance, to the poem's first three lines:
We are the miracles that God made
To taste the bitter fruit of Time.
We are precious.
Against the backdrop of a complex metaphor, the three-word line "We are precious" rings out simple and clear. It's as if the speaker wants their listeners to stay quiet with those words for a moment, and to take them seriously.
This free verse poem doesn't use a rhyme scheme. Instead, it finds euphony in subtler ways. Listen, for example, to the alliteration and consonance in the first two lines:
We are the miracles that God made
To taste the bitter fruit of Time.
The first line describes the miraculous lives of the speaker and their audience in plush, round /m/ and /d/ sounds. The second, in describing the suffering these beloved people have had to endure, switches to tight, sharp /t/ sounds. These contrasting sounds suit an "African Elegy" that sings of both blessings and pain (and the interweaving of the two).
The poem's speaker is an African addressing Africans: a prophetic figure describing the sufferings and redemptive joys of an entire continent. To this speaker, Africa is both a blessed and a suffering place. Africans are "the miracles that God made," a chosen people; painfully, though, they've also been chosen "to taste the bitter fruit of Time," to wait a long time for their day to come.
The speaker's intimate, loving address to their fellow Africans suggests they feel deep pride and gratitude for what they see as a whole continent's legacy: joy and gentleness in the face of poverty and pain.
This speaker's conversations with the dead and foreseeing of a time when "our suffering / Will turn into the wonders of the earth" also paints them as a mystic and a visionary. The speaker trusts that, through the intervention of "God" and the "unseen" forces that shape human fates, all pain one day turns "golden"—and so it will be for all of Africa.
Though the poem never says much directly about its setting, readers can guess that it takes place, rather mystically, all across Africa. The speaker addresses the entire population of that vast continent, suggesting that African identity transcends the boundaries of nations.
African-ness, in this speaker's vision, involves a capacity to trust that suffering always transmutes into the "wonders of the earth," someday and somehow. But it also means being able to take pleasure in the simplest good things in life, to rejoice in "the air when it is warm," "the fruit when it tastes so good," and "the lights that bounce gently on the waters." These visions could come from anywhere that there's warmth, fruit, light, and water; the speaker's idea of Africa isn't rooted in one particular landscape or country, but a more general way of being in the world. In this, perhaps the speaker addresses not just Africans in Africa, but the whole African diaspora, people all over the world with roots in the troubled, beautiful continent.
Ben Okri (1959–present) is a contemporary Nigerian-British writer. Most famous for his fiction, Okri is also a prolific poet, playwright, and essayist. This is the title poem of his 1992 collection An African Elegy.
Okri's writings dance on the border between this world and another. The spirits of the dead (who sing to the speaker in this poem) often play a major role in Okri's work; in his Booker Prize-winning 1991 novel The Famished Road, for instance, the spirit of a dead child lingers on earth, befriending the people of a small Nigerian town. Among the influences on his style, Okri lists everything from Yoruba folktales to the mystical writings of English Romantic poets William Blake and Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Some critics draw parallels between Okri and magical realists like Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Salman Rushdie.
But Okri's work also deals with difficult political realities. His fiction and poetry, while often offering a buoyant spiritual message, also unflinchingly depict the struggles of Okri's native Nigeria—and of Africa, and of the world more generally. Recently, Okri has written political poetry about the 2017 Grenfell Tower disaster and essays on the climate crisis. He argues that artists have a moral imperative to face what's happening to the planet and prescribes a literary style that depicts impending doom with "no frills."
Ben Okri's family moved to the UK when he was a small child, then moved back to their native Nigeria in 1966—only to to find themselves present for the outbreak of the Nigerian Civil War. This complex and bloody conflict, triggered by the aftereffects of British colonialism in Africa, made a deep impression on the young Okri: "The war taught me as a kid that there is no certainty in this world," he said in an interview. Okri witnessed not just the war's violence, but the terrible poverty and inequality that fueled the fire; he has written movingly about the suffering he saw in the streets of Lagos.
This poem's vision of an Africa united by sufferings draws not just on Okri's first-hand experience of the war in Nigeria, but on generations of painful history. Okri's native country was a hub of the Atlantic slave trade; many people who were enslaved in North America and Europe came from Nigeria's Igbo and Yoruba ethnic groups. The spirits of the dead who sing to the speaker in this poem hint at a long legacy of African pain and oppression, often inflicted by colonial outsiders—but also point toward a more hopeful future, not just for Nigeria, but for the whole African continent.
An Interview with Okri — Listen to a short interview with Ben Okri in which he describes how he decided to be a writer.
The Poem Aloud — Listen to a reading of the poem.
Okri's Website — Visit Okri's website to learn more about his past and current work.
A Brief Biography — Visit the Poetry Foundation's website to learn about Okri's life.
Okri's Recent Work — Read an article in which Okri describes his most recent work: a collaborative project with the visual artist Rosemary Clunie.