Village boy Impressions

I walk my beat in cities and markets— under the perspiring sun. From Tamale to Kejetia , Techiman to Takoradi — Accra my home base: Nima , Mallam Atta , Agbogbloshie , Makola — Everywhere, I am there. Head pan in hand.   I thread markets and bus stations. From six to six—rain or shine— Carrying other people’s loads. Who pick their way behind me, daintily, watching, anxious, while I shout and nudge through the crowds, lest I be lost with their goods. And when I arrive— they begrudge me my wage.   Foxes have holes. Birds have nests. But I— a daughter, a mother— have none. I make my bed in borrowed spaces, where weary pillows give no rest, and sleep eludes me. I am prey to mosquitoes and all blood-sucking creatures . Unscrupulous men lurk in the dark to plunder both my purse and womanhood, and leave me a mother with a double load, if not worse.   Shop-owners scowl at me. Drivers curse me. Shoppers call me what they please— until they need my head to carry what they will ...