Village boy Impressions

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

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

Many Bulsa seem to think that when we ask the question, "How do we say this or that in Buli?", it means they have to think back to some deep and incomprehensible Buli to say what it is. Others also believe that "pure" Buli is old-fashioned words or expressions used in a time different from ours. Neither of these ways of thinking is right. The essence of language is communication and in my opinion, language is what it is at any point in time. It can be likened to a living organism and it develops overtime by making new words and phrases, borrowing others, giving new meanings to old words among other strategies. A friend of mine in good humour, once remarked that "if we take away the French, Greek and Latin words from the English Language, it will become German!".  One of the topics that often trouble many Buli speakers is in relation to counting money or mentioning monetary figures. We therefore, continue our  lesson in numerals today by learning about mone