The seasons at home
1. Before the rains
Burning! Burning!
In still smokeless air,
The land goes up in flames!
Man, bird, beast, and leaf
All stand bowed, brown, and lifeless;
Oppressed by the pitiless sun
Marauding across the naked sky
Shooting fiery darts upon the open fields
Like a notorious slave raider.
In still smokeless air,
The land goes up in flames!
Man, bird, beast, and leaf
All stand bowed, brown, and lifeless;
Oppressed by the pitiless sun
Marauding across the naked sky
Shooting fiery darts upon the open fields
Like a notorious slave raider.
Men crawl into kusungta[1] to muse
Beasts stand motionless beneath ageless trees
And birds quietly nestle in the crowns.
Only bare baobabs and naked compounds
Stand defiant in the fiery scenery
As are the women, indomitable,
Sprinkling ngam[2] on mud walls
To cure them for the coming rains
Beasts stand motionless beneath ageless trees
And birds quietly nestle in the crowns.
Only bare baobabs and naked compounds
Stand defiant in the fiery scenery
As are the women, indomitable,
Sprinkling ngam[2] on mud walls
To cure them for the coming rains
2. After the early rains
Verdant and breathless!
All the land is alive and feisty
Such a fair sight to behold!
All look upon her and wonder.
For the land now wears in majesty,
The viridescence of the early rains
Stretching into the distant horizon.
All around, men women and children
Are busy at work upon the fields.
Here, bullocks pull their plough;
There, a man or woman hoes
Turning over the soft brown earth,
And everywhere, grasses and trees
Stand in bloom, silent, free, fair
In the clean sweet morning air
Under a swift sunrise.
Dear God! What a sight!
3. Before the harvest
The land is robed in majesty.
Trees, shrubs, crops, and grass
Stand clad in thick green glory.
There’s a wetness everywhere
Stand clad in thick green glory.
There’s a wetness everywhere
And all things stand in contentment
Soaked in the sweetness of the land.
The fields are pregnant with harvest
Breathing heavily and slowly.
As the rain patters incessantly
The mud walls come tumbling
And the paths are dank and dicey.
The stream, overflowing its banks,
Slides past, singing an endless chorus
And the kids jump and shout
As they plunge in and out.
Packs of birds whirl overhead
Making straight for the millet crop,
And cries go up from many quarters
In fear for the beloved harvest,
Standing delicately in the fields;
Awaiting a grant of heat and light
For their ripening.
All this while, gloomy clouds loom overhead
As an impotent sun creeps sulkily
Free! Free as birds in flight
All the land is naked and free.
The throng of the shrubbery
Is driven back and laid low.
Only stumps litter the fields
Pointers to the recent harvest.
Goats, calves, and kids bray and fray
Round about half fallen walls
Whilst men, women and children
Emerge sleepily from broken homes
To gulp in the fresh morning air
And hail their neighbours in greeting.
Huts and homes stand naked and open
Unto the fields and the early Harmattan
As a radiant sun rises in the distant east.
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