Village boy Impressions

Children dancing 'Nagela' in front of a compound. Photo Credit: Franz Kröger ( buluk.de ) When the harvest is all done and dusted  And the fields lie empty and desolate When the groundnuts are all plucked The Bambara beans dug up roots and all When all the sorghum in the field is felled And only sharp prickly remnants remain When tethering the goats is now ended And the boys gain such a relief As to sigh with gratitude bordering on piety Read:  Village Boy Impressions - Tethering Goats When the shepherds no more chase the sheep The cowherds no longer shout at errant bulls And the moon is happy enough To make the cripple hungry for a walk, Do we nightly gather before the house; Mothers, fathers, uncles, and aunts, Teens, children, toddlers and babies Brothers, sisters, nephews, and nieces With cousins, bastards and orphans too. There we tell many a tale and laugh Unrestrained juvenile squealing That rouses the sleeping chickens and ducks. W

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 gri

When the sun is high up,  And the adults are busy with many things, With our chores hurriedly done or abandoned,  We steal away with our little hoes  Wandering far into the farmlands  To dig along the ridges in the fields  And glean what we may or must,  For pleasure or necessity!  The pleasure being in fields abandoned,  When the rains stopped too early.  Or the yield is adjudged to be poor;  And the farmer is discouraged;  Then happily we come into our own,  For here there is great  reward.  But alas! When hunger lays siege,  And our mothers are too busy or helpless,  Our insatiable appetites are awakened. Then rich reward or not we come  And dig and scatter and peer at the earth  Like the fowls  search for woodworm  In the shrubbery  at home.  For any and every excuse  We are glad to grab a hoe and can  And head into the deserted fields  Where we dig and search and dig,  For the nuts the hard ground holds,  Returning home with full bellies,  Even to

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.  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 Read:  Village Boy Impressions - A Moonlit Night 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 b

       “Feed the hungry,” said the preacher,  I listened keenly, feeling my tummy  As my mind raced back to those years  Long, long ago,  When it growled, gnarled and rumbled  And I squirmed in the attempt to hide it But how does one conceal hunger? It is a god-spirit  That possesses mind, body, and soul.  Gnawing, biting, burning, breaking.    The whole frame shudders in response  And the limbs are weak and wobbly The senses become rusty and dull.  All except the nose, yes the nose!  Which can smell the aroma of food  Over a two-mile radius! Read: Village Boy Impressions -  Election Mangana          Hunger makes a topsy-turvy world! Makes the mouth dry, The tongue cleaving to the jaw, The tubes writhing in agony, As if the enzymes work overtime, Devouring all in their path. The postbag cries in agony, With saggy and anaemic walls. Sleep becomes elusive Vision blur, Thinking horrendous, Talk abominable. The world stops spinning,

The sky is bare and barren tonight  The heavens are glorious and starless  Not a single cloud to be seen  A happy full moon shines  In all brilliance and delight.  The land is bathed in her light  As bright and clear as  day.  Read: Village Boy Impressions -  The Wailing Bride The title reads: The Reason Why the Chameleon has a Broken Head All are gathered before the house.  The children are awake and ecstatic  Sleep has vanished from our eyes  With the rising of the delightful moon.  Boys resume the afternoon game of ' socksball ',  The girls renew their  ampe  rivalry,  The little ones driving tin cars,  Others enacting ‘Dada and Mama’ scenes  To the amusement of the real ones.  Later, we start playing ' agbeli-gbeli ',   Yelling and racing round  the huts.  As are the children in other compounds Read:  Village Boy Impressions -   How to Help Ghana and Yourself Inquisitive chickens lured by the moonlight, Have bolted from their house.

         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 scared

1.  All is still and soundless As the mighty calm after a storm  The land is at rest Tired and worn out from the trampling  And stomping these last many days   From homes, to the pa lace, the market  And back to homes again with drums  Humming and buzzing all day nonstop  Horns and whistles calling from rooftops  Singing the praise of ancient warriors  Men’s blood boiling in response  And hearts throbbing with the drums  All is now spent and silent.       2.         The patter of the feet of excited children  The dainty steps of maidens  The eager stride of energetic youths  The heavy drag of grey-bearded men  The resounding trod of war dancers  And sweaty women chasing them  Round and round the marketplace  That made the land throb and tremble  All that is now still and resting.  All are wearied with aching joints  And sprained muscles sore  None is stirring.       3.         The air is thick and still Clad in  a heavy cloak of dust  Looming ov