Village boy Impressions

Buli is the language of the Bulsa ethnic group in the Upper East and North East regions of Ghana. The name Bulsa is also spelt in official documents and elsewhere as Builsa but this author and many others believe that spelling to be quite incorrect.    With regards to this series, let me say from the outset that I am not a language expert. This series is not a study of the origin of the language or its syntax or any of all those things that help people to learn a language in detail. In effect, therefore, considering my lack of training in language or linguistics, this endeavour may be described as a headstrong attempt (in the Buli Language;  zupagruk tuima) .    My  zupagruk , however, comes from the motivation that it can be the force that would propel the more qualified ones to come out with the best material that can help us read and write Buli well. This is, therefore, more of a kindergarten introduction to the language.   If you have no background in the language, it may n

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 earth was full, the valleys green The plains stretched on from east to west The skies were clear and full of bird song When Atuga rose and walked the land. He loved the plains most rich and fair Bathed by light of sun, moon, and stars. He named the nameless hills and vales He drank from yet unsullied streams He beheld the remnants of the land And perceived them most fair and bold Read: Village Boy Impressions -  FEOK - The Hallowed Festival of the Builsa       The world was fair and less callous In those days before the coming Of mounted raiders and plunderers From the North, the East, and West And from far South over many seas. No stain yet on the land was seen; No axe was laid to the verdant shrub No raging fires to the brown sward No plough had broken the loamy fields All was fair and good in Atuga’s day. Then said he, ‘this shall be my home’ And among the remnant, he abode From them chose he a maiden to wife Dar

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. Before the rains Burning! Burning!  In still smokeless air,  The land goes up in flames!  Man, bird, beast, and leaf  All stand bowed, brown, and lifeless;  Oppressed by the pitiless sun  Marauding across the naked sky  Shooting fiery darts upon the open fields Like a notorious slave raider.  Men crawl into  kusungta [1]  to muse  Beasts stand motionless beneath ageless trees  And birds quietly nestle in the crowns.  Only bare baobabs and naked compounds  Stand defiant in the fiery scenery  As are the women, indomitable,  Sprinkling ngam [2]  on mud walls  To cure them for  the coming rains Read:  Village Boy Impressions - A Moonlit Night 2. After the early rains Verdant and breathless! All the land is alive and feisty Such a fair sight to behold! All look upon her and wonder. For the land now wears in majesty, The viridescence of the early rains Stretching into the distant horizon. All around, men women and children Are b

       “Feed the hungry,” said the preacher,  I listened keenly, feeling my tummy  As my mind raced back to those years  Long, long ago,  When it growled, gnarled and rumbled  And I squirmed in the attempt to hide it But how does one conceal hunger? It is a god-spirit  That possesses mind, body, and soul.  Gnawing, biting, burning, breaking.    The whole frame shudders in response  And the limbs are weak and wobbly The senses become rusty and dull.  All except the nose, yes the nose!  Which can smell the aroma of food  Over a two-mile radius! Read: Village Boy Impressions -  Election Mangana          Hunger makes a topsy-turvy world! Makes the mouth dry, The tongue cleaving to the jaw, The tubes writhing in agony, As if the enzymes work overtime, Devouring all in their path. The postbag cries in agony, With saggy and anaemic walls. Sleep becomes elusive Vision blur, Thinking horrendous, Talk abominable. The world stops spinning,

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.