Village boy Impressions

I dig the earth for my saab and wokta and for the sweet intoxicating pito, I tender the sorghum to maturity. Daily, I commune with the land, turning it gently with my little hoe. For there is no higher delight than tending things that grow;  no smell more exciting,  than that of boiling pito; no sight more pleasing  than that of new green,  and colourful blossoms,  in the sweet morning sun!  This was my life, my work, my joy. And for many ages, good old weeds  and late rains were my daily song.  So we lived in peace and quiet;  this land and I each for the other  in unending consonance. Then they sent a sudden death  nicknamed 'Condemn', and plastered it over the growing green. It found its way into backyards and little rivers, poisoning the cowpea and the okra, and shriveling the sesame tendrils. All that was green and good  failed at their promise. It is death to all, this Condemn.  I will sooner have no weeds to cut, and no crops to harvest. For it lingers; this death, killi

The sun is shining in all brilliance and delight Doing his very best to spread life and cheer Flamboyant blossoms hasten to welcome him Spilling sweet aromas in their joyous haste The little birds and crickets raise a song And all the crawling creatures beneath Join in the happy  chorus.    Rocks on distant hills Echo the melodious tune The warming air breezes softly Whispering sweet tidings to the world The listening trees and grasses,  tickled in deep places sway in gentle dance, And now the sun itself stands still To take in the sights and the sounds.   Have you read:  Village Boy Impressions - The Joys of Mother Africa   Deep in the lustrous jungle,  the lions roar, the rhinoceros charge, zebras bray and fray, giraffes stretch out long necks, to glimpse the wonder  and the beauty, and laughing rivers run on. Only we, the idle masters, Impervious ingrates Oblivious of the promise and the praise, Drool on in slumber, sadly. Up from your beds Slothful masters! Too long have you lain i

Hurt not the trees! The trees! The trees! Oh hurt not the trees! These majestic giants,  Robed in green glory; Thick as thieves, Meek as mice,  Ancient even as the land.   Silent, calm, dignified. Shedding their incense  upon a neglected realm. Long have they stood,    deep in their root, tall in their reach massive in their girth keeping watch over us; from the blazing sun above,  the blistering earth at our feet, and the carbonic gas in air. Come, let us go on our knees to thank and praise their worth! Oh, what a sight they make; What a view to see; What beauty to admire;  Cheek to cheek,  shoulder to shoulder, with intertwining boughs  muttering their supplications  over this wretched thoroughfare that has received naught but promise upon promise  yet cannot be mended And now to be without them? The first shade of welcome  and the last sigh of goodbye upon this dusty stretch. Is their death the price we must pay, For the promises to be fulfilled? Stop! Listen! Across the land, the h

I am but a pin in this strangling place; A manic world drowning in sensual excess. Yonder lies only shameless opulence, And here, shameful squalor and discontent Where cats eat mice and cheese  And the mice must eat other mice. Each day I jostle with the thousands  In the sweltering noon sun at Nima With hands and breast,  I must heave and cleave, The foundation of new mansions at Ashongman Must push and pull truck and cart Through Kantamanto and Mallam Atta And nudge my way through the  madding crowds At Ashaiman and Agbogbloshie  Till I hear the clink of copper in my pocket  Or see the precious red paper at hand To buy only stale bread and pure water, Pay one macho man to ease myself, And another one to wash, And the rest to an indolent landlord  at Sodom and Gomorrah Whose only estate is the half-rotten kiosk Where at the coming of darkness With my legs as heavy as lead, My muscles sickly with fatigue And all my joints disjointed, I suffocate with eight brothers fro

The sun is searing hot Hurling down fierce fuming rays.  Earth roasts under his angry gaze  As meat over blazing coals.  Everything bows in submission  Men, birds, beasts, and beetles  Trees, shrubs and every blade of grass  Droops in defeat and compliance. On this sweltering March noon ablaze Upon a deserted path in defiance , A solitary figure lumbers on. Bent forward with a stern grit, with A double load of wood and flesh, Labouring on, towards The distant din of a village market! Read:  Village Boy Impressions  -  Fathers A mother, with her mewling infant And a hefty load of firewood Trudging to the market To buy salt and pepper  That she may feed her family! Her man, probably lounging in a bar Had shoved at her a basket of millet With nothing else for soup. She had gone to the mortar To thresh that millet with sore palms And upon her grinding stone  Milled it all into flour. She went to the river with a big pot Till all the bigger pots at home brimmed over.  But