Village boy Impressions

First came the strangers, with maps and flags Invasive, like ants to a feast In wonder, they gazed upon our land– Wide, wild, untouched by fence or boundary Where man, bird and beast roamed free Each belonging to no one but themselves So they called us headless.  We, whose spirits birthed kingdoms? Preposterous! And with swift strokes of the mighty pen, Lines were drawn across our lives and hearts.  As bloodless as it was brutal, it reads: "We hereby claim this land for Her Majesty the Queen!"   But our fathers arose, And fought and bled and won it back But when the invading flags were lowered, New masters emerged from among us: Big men, genteel ladies, pot-bellied tycoons,  Chiefs, or is it 'thiefs'? We know not, Multinational looters and robbers in suits, and the political crooks behind them. "The land does not belong to us; we belong to it, It cannot be sold"! Our fathers said, Now they grieve in their g...

At home the fires are in the fields Licking up twigs, herbs and every blade of grass Leaving a bleak blackness everywhere The fires eat the land at home   They came one day in the heat of noon while men rested Racing through the cornfields And licking through the rice farms, The sorghum, soya, and late millet The fires eat the land at home   How sad a thing to hear the wailing of women And the mournful sighs of grown men, Calling on the gods to save them From this monster of their own making   Analim stands in the middle of his field With his two sons, sweating from the heat His hands on his head, in despair Frantic efforts with neem branches and buckets of water Could not save their burnt crop The women are weeping mournfully, If only tears could quench the blazing fires But alas, the ancestors and the gods are silent  And the flames of hell have broken out Eating up the very soil Sending thick clouds of dark, dark...

Head porters (popularly called 'kayayei' in Ghana) Photo credit:  NewsGhana I walk my beat in many cities and markets Up and down in the perspiring sun From Tamale to Kumasi Kejetia Techiman to Takoradi market circle The mighty Accra is my home base Whether it is Nima, or Mallam Atta, Agbogbloshie or Makola, I am there. Down I come with my head pan in hand. To tread the markets and lorry parks. From six to six each day, rain or shine. I carry my wares; other people’s loads Who strut daintily behind me Watching intently, anxiously Whilst I shout and nudge my way in the crowd, Lest I should be lost with their goods. Yet when I finally arrive, these opportunists, These women, mothers, genteel ladies and lazy men Even they, begrudge me my wage. Read: Village Boy Impressions - Unsung Heroines Tired kayayei find rest under a big truck. Read: Village Boy Impressions - Election Mangana Foxes have holes and birds have nests But I, a daughter a...