Cracking Groundnuts

1. 
Some nights, when the moon is happy 
Smiling broadly from its heavenly home. 
A small crowd gathers in the yard; 
Grandma, mother, aunty and the others 
Not forgetting me and three smaller ones. 
Akangriba the dog would be present 
As is the cat who never quite got a name. 
Baba is outside on the dampala[1] 
With a neighbour for company 
As the age-old ritual is being enacted, 
And none can be left out: 
A hand reaches into the big bowl 
And grabs a handful of groundnuts, 
Ka, ka, crack! goes the shells, 
Hard-pressed between thumb and index. 
Opened shells are clasped in one hand 
Or dropped in a calabash nearby 
And the ritual is repeated again and again. 
Until our fingers ache, we the little ones.

2.
Soon we find support in our teeth.

A seed or two usually remaining

To keep the jaws busy and sleep at bay.

When this becomes too frequent,

We earn a rebuke or two,

And are driven off to our mats,

Beside the cracking party,

Under the grinning moon.

Though we rest our aching thumbs,

Our mouths shut grudgingly
Being denied the pleasure of chewing

And soon we are fast asleep

With the sound of cracking groundnuts

In our dreams…ka, ka, crack!

In the morning, we stare in wonder

For all the groundnuts is cracked,

And carefully stored away.

Then we wish we had stayed awake,

Or smuggled the nuts in our pockets

As we went to our mats.

But it is impossible to do so

When the moon is so exultant,

Not to mention the vigilance of mother

And the mischief of older siblings.

    3.     

There are some seasons and years,

When one hears the sound

Of cracking groundnuts,

But never sees the precious nuts.

Those are the hungry years,

When the groundnut is small,

And the field to be planted is large,

And it is too dear to buy more.

Mother does the cracking

Alone in the shadows of nightfall

When all the yawning mouths

And empty rumbling bellies

Are gone to their hungry mats.

In those years, groundnuts

Are endangered species.

Even balingka[2] is done in secret

And summons to join the sowing party,

Are given with strict admonition

Not to take any prisoners,

Or eat any of the wounded,

As that would awaken appetites

Too dangerous to pacify.

But verily, verily we all know

That all the wounded, dismembered,

Sick, and shriveled seeds

Have been meticulously separated

And jealously hoarded at home,

To be the foundation

Of the next wokta[3] soup!

---

[1] Logs of wood placed in front of the house or under a hut for siting in the afternoon or at night

[2] Separating the shells from the seeds after cracking is completed – similar to winnowing

[3] Leaves of a variety of kenaf (known elsewhere as Gongura)