Village boy Impressions

Along the main path from the market  A happy troupe of youth stream by  With a prized possession in tow  Amid   excited chatter  enchanting tunes  That pierce the moonlit night  Far and long with a message of hope; A nuptial announcement. 'The great great great grandson Of back into legendary ancestors Has married his sweetheart!' Says the song. Women mount their rooftops  To ululate the singing party  Wayeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiii!!!. Read: Village Boy Impressions -   My Sugar Runs Out Often, the enchanting tunes and ululations  Are lost upon one member of the party  The tear-stained  sobbing bride;  The bitter-sweetheart! This teary companion  is  carried,  dragged, or pushed along  Angry, pained, helpless, and wearied.  An unwilling bride treading resentfully  With frequent loud shrieks and sobs  Oblivious of  the excitement  Of her exultant abductors...

1.         For three long years, it festers  With occasional flares   Whilst we wait like impatient  Hungry school kids for the bell!  Half listening, half-sleeping  Whilst the hapless teacher drones on  About formulas and theorems  And when we hear the clang  Of the lunchtime bell,  All hell breaks loose!  We are released from holding  Like breached waters  That go roaring down the valley,  Each trying to outdo the other. As the banners fly In election time! Read: Village Boy Impressions - A Tribute to Hunger 2.         It is a trying time, yes!  Election time is nuisance time.  Trying your patience and nerves!  You can’t listen to the radio!  All day without rest or respite  Talk show hosts and panellists  Hiss and bark at each other                ...

         Goats are the most productive of animals  Growing rapidly and littering in pairs,  Triplets and even quadruplets!  And soon the house is full of goats  Braying and bleating everywhere!  If you but see them in the dry months,  You would love their shiny coats  And fine furs as they file in at dusk.  You wonder what they have been eating  Since the land is brown and bare.  But the elders of old have an adage:  “another’s hand cannot be oily enough!”  So even with the fresh green grass  Of the many rainy moons,  They are not as fair as with the dry grass  Fruits and twigs of the hot dry months.  All because they are tethered in this season,  And their food comes at the hands of us boys. 

Abelikpien! Abelikpien! Tell me, oh do tell! Where do you come from? You lie empty, dry, and desolate As many long rainless months go by Under cloudless clear skies by day And twinkling bright heavens by night. The parched harmattan blasts Leave you dry to the core And the pitiless sun roasts you Until your sands burn our feet So we wince and hurry Across your dry bed in the long months     Our fathers say you come from the 'forest' For no matter how much it rains at home, You are desolate and dry And at times with hardly a drop here You turn out in full flow Bursting at your banks. You are foaming and weltering, Chuckling and cackling downstream. And we; your worshippers, call out in glee “Hey, water has come to the river”! As we race to the hill To watch your rough waters race by   Sometimes you bring so much load Enormous trees that you uproot and carry In the mighty arms of your current Even the adults are ...