Village boy Impressions

On  the wall in my backyard, In the shade of the tall tree in flower Round and round the trunk, up and down A she-lizard dances with her mate. My heart rolled back the years Till I stood by the crags in childhood  Wide-eyed with a taut catapult in hand A roughly round pebble held ready to fly As we circled the rocks  in the noon sun. Read:  Village Boy Impressions - The Baobab Tree Agama, what a good sport! Swift, spirited and agile Just as good at swerving as Breaking suddenly in flight.  Quite a wonder and a challenge to us. But so also were we, the little cats Nimble of foot and deft with our shots. Driven by our little rumbling tummies; The constant nagging companions of our boyhood. Read:  Village Boy Impressions - A Tribute to Hunger Our favourite was always the landlord Blue-grey body, and yellow tail Red or orange head, so cocky Mocking us from your elevated post On the crags, roofs, high walls or tree branches, Defying our flying stones and curses. 

When I was younger,  I was warned August comes with rain  Persistent pitter-pattering drops  Described I know not why as cats and dogs   When I was younger,  I saw rain in August  The vale shining like tin roofing sheets in the sun  And Abelikpien singing a mouth-full chorus  When I was younger,  I danced in the pattering rain with naked feet  Heedless of Mama's caution  Only dreading Daddy's whip  Village Boy Impressions - The Seasons at Home   When I was younger,  I loved to lie awake during the August downpour To hear the vibrating rhythm of the rain On the tin roof over my head When I was younger,  I saw the walls come tumbling in August Walked dank and dicey paths And plunged into the brim-full stream Village Boy Impressions - The Mighty Abelikpien Now I am older, There is no rain, no tumbling walls No singing streams, no flooded vales Only scorching sun and withering crops What can have happened to August? Sandema August 13, 2020

Our favourite stream: Abelikpien It is an early morning, windy and bright  As I take a turn about this sandy stretch  Watching fishers draw their long nets  With straining muscles and clenched jaws  From restless waters breaking at their feet My heart stole back over the years  To our very own angling adventures  In the beloved intermittent brook at home  Wherein we bathed and played and fished  And in my mind's bright eye, I see a trout  Fluttering and dancing on a line.  Have you read:  The Mighty Abelikpien? Oft it comes about many a blazing noon That we hear the call of the stream And stealthily hasten to respond in glee Each one bearing a straight rod At whose end is tied the elastic nylon line That carries the latex or wooden float Which we rightly named ‘the gossip’ And the barbed hook right at the end Intended to impale hapless rapacious fish. In groups numbering one to many We sneak out for a nook at the brook Once snuggled

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

The baobab tree stands bare in the dry season On an hallowed spot at home, Stands a tall, mighty baobab.  Steeped in myth and legend  A massive and hefty girth  Thick, wide and stout arms.  Bare in the rainless moons  And green cloaked with the showers.  From every house, it calls;  Girls and boys, men and women The old and the young,  The nimble and the slow,  Birds, bees, beasts, and bats.  To all and sundry it welcomes  With food, sweetness, and shelter.  In its arms; shrouded or naked,  Or under its shaded bare ground,  We play, we laugh, we rest, we court. Read:  Village Boy Impressions - The Seasons at Home In the rainy season, the baobab tree is usually cloaked green  For the fresh nourishing leaves Our mothers fight the caterpillars. And for the lip-smacking nectar, We wrestle with the bees at dawn. Fearing neither their ominous hum, Nor the eventual virulent sting. Devouring the budding flowers, Into tummies that

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.         I beheld a jolly chap in the parkland;  In the warm sunny morning air.  With an old hat over his head,  An old bucket at his side,  An axe  over his shoulder,  And whistling a faintly familiar tune;  He wandered about to and fro  Collecting the dried cow dung.  I smiled in recognition and remembrance  As my heart rolled back the years  To when I went collecting termites. I also had an old bucket and a hoe  But alas! no hat of my own  As I marched into the scrubland,  With great eagerness or reluctance  Humming happy or melancholy tunes,  As my mood might happen to be.  A man returning to his house with a bucket of termites 2.         After the early rains, I go in search For crusts of clay  on the ground That shows where the woodworm lurks. There, I plant a pot of broken-up dung That will nourish and lure them To build and multiply for a day or two. And in the warm sunrise, I come To harvest and gather with my bucket!       The

“God chooses things the world considers foolish in order to shame those who think they are wise and chooses what is weak in the world to shame the strong” - 1Cor1:27 (my translation).   I visited a library for the first time in my life when I was 13 and in J. H. S 1. Then, my small stature coupled with the fact that I was new and not very confident restricted me to the children's section all through my adolescent years and even beyond. Nevertheless, I was really enjoying the stories in that section. My favourite story was;  "The Emperor's New Clothes ” by the Danish author, Hans Christian Andersen. I do not know exactly why it was my favourite then. Perhaps because it was so hilarious (the thought of a king walking down the street naked). Today, I remember it and love it not because it is so hilarious (for it is no longer so to me) but because it speaks volumes about society. I have come to learn a lesson from it that I can’t forget. The Pl

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.