Village boy Impressions

It was a small room about three or four square meters in size and with nothing to sit on but the bed. The man himself and a small boy who came from the school with me were lying on the linoleum-covered floor. The man motioned me to the bed, partly shielded by a curtain and I sat on the edge of it. The roof was leaking right at my feet and he placed a tin bowl there to collect the drops.  I would have liked to look around the room but it felt disrespectful to get too curious about my benevolent host’s domestic space. At first, I was uneasy about being in a strange room in a faraway village where I could not speak a word of the language. After a few minutes, however, I chided myself for being stupid. Villagers are typically decorous towards their children’s teachers and it is probably the same courtesy that they were extending to me. How could I meet such a kind gesture with suspicion and mistrust? I, therefore, looked up at my host and smiled. He returned my smile and said a few words t

It was my first visit to the Nkwanta North district and it began like any other day. My mission: to support other members of the Lively Minds Technical Team to set up the GES Lively Minds Programme in the district. We were at the stage of Training of Mothers popularly called ToM. At 7am, we left the hotel and drove into the town to get breakfast. When the cars stopped, one of my colleagues walked over to our car and informed us that those in the first car were going to eat fufu but he wanted porridge. Fufu at 7:00am? I asked. Interesting. "But there is also waakye and ‘raster’ porridge," he added. I told him I had taken a cup of coffee and I had an apple in my handbag. The driver burst out laughing. “Hahaha!! We’re talking of food and you say you have an apple?” We all laughed. Everyone eventually bought some food and the fufu team returned to report that it wasn’t ready. So we drove to the education office to meet the district team (DT) and begin the day's work.  I me

  They call her North who know her not or prefer the bliss of their own ignorance. Not I, and a million assorted voices Speaking a thousand tongues of men Whom she nurses in her fertile valleys And dandle on her rolling grassy plains We call her, home...   Land of many colours and contrasts; A vast desert of dusty brown in off-season; Battered black and broken with wind and fire.  But wait the rains in their time,  And yonder before us lie verdant valleys An endless stretch of wood and grassland, Amid which countless streams run, Sparkling in the sweet morning air!  In cultivated fields, women and men, daily Rejoice in the dignity of their labours, Children hop and play around every homestead, With unfeigned childhood delight and innocence. Herds of lumbering cattle graze across lush plains And what a delight to the eye to behold Every flower and blade of grass with pleasure,  Enjoy the very air they draw! My heart leaps at the sight of the meadows! The warmth of the breeze heals my he

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. 

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