WHERE ARE THEY? (The python dance ballyhoo) Where are they? Where are the voices that the globe deifies? Have they lost their tones? Can’t they speak now and quench this fire? What of him that has read all the books on earth Even the ones written by the gods; Can’t he demonstrate the glory of his white hairs? Or has he lost confidence in his quill? But I know it isn’t possible. What of that handsome man blessed with oratory echelon? From where our foods are produced in baskets; The sound of his bucal cavity used to resurrect the dead So can’t he echo his voice again And resurrect this dying national peace? From the area the sun rises regularly The road is forced to drink the blood of her sons Plus tears of the unlucky that puncture her eyes And you tell me that things haven’t fallen apart? Please let Achebe exhume himself, and defend his book now. This is not the time to say “Not my business” Rather a time to say “It is my busines