The Mighty Abelikpien! (ode to a favourite childhood stream)

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 scared of you then

But we, your worshippers, stand in awe

Of you, shimmering with excitement.

We love nothing more than to plunge in

And later recount our escapades

To envious listeners.

 

 

We have endured the gnawing of hunger

For hours as the penalty for visiting you.

We have endured scolding and lashes

Because you detained us for so long

When we came to scrub the pots.

Yet again and again, we return to you

With undiminished love.

All we ever care about

Is to bathe, drink, and fish in you

Diving under your receding waters

Calling, shouting, crying and laughing

Oh, Abelikpien! Our Abelikpien!

How we love you!

 

 

The elders say to know water

Is to stand at the bank and go back.

But not so to us, no!

For us, to know water is to plunge in

Headlong with unfeigned delight

Kicking and striking out

With feeble hands and feet

Quaffing mouthfuls of dirty floodwaters

Panting and pushing with the current

Clutching at weeds and water

Until at last, we reach the bank,

All worn out and far downstream.

 

 

Then we haul ourselves out and lie

Coughing with red eyes and running noses

Knowing that the wrath of mother’s love

Awaits us with a vengeance

For we risk our lives in that plunge.

Lives, so precious to our mothers.

For you, we would risk all

For the pleasure and the glory

Of diving into your turbulent current.

 

 

Abelikpien, my Abelikpien

Oh tell me, please do tell

Where do you go in your endless march?

Some say you go to Kumasi

And others say Akosombo

But you never say a word in reply

Tell me when next your water is coming

For I much desire to see you in full flow

To hear your turbulent talk

As the elders say,

'the river is full and talking'!

Abelikpien my Abelikpien

I love thee till I die!