Ken Saro Wiwa (1941-1995), born in Bori in Nigeria, with a degree in English Ibadam, he taught at the universities of Lagos and Nsukka. Prolific writer, has published more than twenty-six books of various literary genre (novels, short stories, poems, children's books) including Sozaboy, his most successful novel, based on the memoirs of a boy-soldier against the backdrop of civil war Nigeria. Collaborator of radio and television was very popular in his country. Environmentalist and activist for human rights, became President in 1993 of MOSOP (Movement for the Protection of the Ogoni), which campaigns for and against this troubled ethnic ecological disasters caused by oil companies. Accused of murder along with eight other comrades and sentenced to death by a special court, was hanged, despite international pressure, 10 November 1995. In 1997 he was nominated for the Nobel prize for peace.
Not the leaking roof
I'm not even the mosquitoes that buzz
In the wet, miserable cell.
not ping the key
While the jailer will close within.
not the paltry rations
insufficient to man or beast
Not even anything on the day
sinking into the void of night
not
not
not.
are the lies that you have hammered
ears for an entire generation
It 's the cop who runs wildly in a murderous rampage
While running the cold-blooded murderous orders
In exchange for a meager meal a day.
The judge who writes in his book
punishment, you know, is unfair
The moral decrepitude
The mental ineptitude
granting a false legitimacy to the dictatorship
The cowardice disguised as obedience
lurking in our souls denigrate
You the fear of wet pants
We dare not eliminate our urine
E 'this
E' this
E 'this
My friend, this is that transforms our world free
In a dark prison.
I'm not even the mosquitoes that buzz
In the wet, miserable cell.
not ping the key
While the jailer will close within.
not the paltry rations
insufficient to man or beast
Not even anything on the day
sinking into the void of night
not
not
not.
are the lies that you have hammered
ears for an entire generation
It 's the cop who runs wildly in a murderous rampage
While running the cold-blooded murderous orders
In exchange for a meager meal a day.
The judge who writes in his book
punishment, you know, is unfair
The moral decrepitude
The mental ineptitude
granting a false legitimacy to the dictatorship
The cowardice disguised as obedience
lurking in our souls denigrate
You the fear of wet pants
We dare not eliminate our urine
E 'this
E' this
E 'this
My friend, this is that transforms our world free
In a dark prison.
