"When the missionaries came to Africa they had the Bible and we had the land. They said "Let us pray." We closed our eyes. When we opened them we had the Bible and they had the land"

Desmond Tutu’s words succinctly capture the complex interplay of religion, colonialism, and dispossession in African history. The missionary’s arrival, bearing the Bible, symbolizes the introduction of Christianity as a tool of imperialism. Christianity was not merely a spiritual offering but also a vehicle that accompanied, and in some cases justified, European colonial ambitions. To say “we had the land” speaks to Africa’s state before the colonial powers set foot: the people were sovereign, custodians of their own resources, cultures, and destinies.

The phrase “Let us pray” becomes an allegory for distraction and trust. Missionaries encouraged Africans to embrace a new spirituality, urging them to bow their heads in prayer. The symbolic act of closing one’s eyes alludes to a metaphorical blindness, a moment when the indigenous population became vulnerable, focusing inward while external forces orchestrated profound changes. The “prayer” thus becomes an instrument through which the colonizers masked their real intentions, framing their presence as benevolent and divinely mandated, while quietly shifting the balance of power.

Upon opening their eyes, Africans found themselves transformed: their spiritual landscape now Christianized, and their physical territory expropriated. The Bible, intended as a sacred guide, is here implied as a substitute or even a distraction, used to facilitate the seizure of land, resources, and autonomy by European powers. The irony rings clear—the blessings promised by the missionaries came couched in loss.

This quote critiques the historical reality where colonial structures exploited the cultural and spiritual openness of Africans, facilitating land grabs and the breakdown of pre-existing social orders. It’s a commentary on manipulation, power, and the cost of naivety or trust in the face of cunning. Tutu’s reflection is both a lament and a warning about the consequences of yielding control, and a call to remember history’s lessons about exploitation that often wear a mask of righteousness.