Village boy Impressions

Take a walk in the Savannah, Listen to the song of birds and trees, See the wonders of the land: The harmony of rocks, and grass,  And the awe of ants and anthills. Feast your eyes on  castles of clay Built with patient labour and craft Plastered by seasonal rainstorms, Baked to artistic perfection By daily scorching suns, and Frequent blazing bushfires.   Inspiring folk are the Savannah ants Going up and down all day In silent, profound labour Tunnelling, firming, raising walls Until the fort stands majestic. Even when we cut it down, As we are wont to do  They build it right back up Without a sound of protest or grumble   Go to the ant, you sluggard! Learn the dignity of labour, See the marvels wrought by Little hands and little heads. Stand in awe of Savannah anthills. Listen to the sermonizing of ants; "Turn your hands from idleness and bloodshed, Your heads from evil machinations and mischief, And your mouths from idle chatter a

  The fierce sun is worn out Slouching towards his nest As a sapped child to bed The air is still, in contemplation A calm ambience spreads Over the naked fields and The animal kingdom Breathes a sigh of relief Yet treading sombrely As if afraid to disturb The sleepy giant.   The cows turn towards home Leisurely foraging the sparse Brown grass and shrubs Trodden by their own hoofs. The clear blue sky turns from Yellow to glowing orange As the quietening sun In the hue of a molten ball   Drops quickly into his shell, Burning but no longer scorchy.   Then Suddenly... Blasts of cool air sweeps Over the bare brown fields And the cattle egrets Take to the cooling sky Destined for the other side Where they pass the night On the ancient baobab United in prayer with all For the next drop of rain.   The children, in delight, wave Their hands in song at the sight: “Cattle egret, inscribe my hands for me, Do not let a scorpion sting me And let not the viper bite me All white!" (Goa-naapierik

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

When I was younger,  I was warned August comes with rain  Persistent pitter-pattering drops  Described I know not why as cats and dogs   When I was younger,  I saw rain in August  The vale shining like tin roofing sheets in the sun  And Abelikpien singing a mouth-full chorus  When I was younger,  I danced in the pattering rain with naked feet  Heedless of Mama's caution  Only dreading Daddy's whip  Village Boy Impressions - The Seasons at Home   When I was younger,  I loved to lie awake during the August downpour To hear the vibrating rhythm of the rain On the tin roof over my head When I was younger,  I saw the walls come tumbling in August Walked dank and dicey paths And plunged into the brim-full stream Village Boy Impressions - The Mighty Abelikpien Now I am older, There is no rain, no tumbling walls No singing streams, no flooded vales Only scorching sun and withering crops What can have happened to August? Sandema August 13, 2020

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

Photo Credit: Franz Kröger Weeding the fields couldn't be more delightful!  Though backs are breaking in the noonday heat,  Palms blistering from gripping rigid hoe sticks,  Sweat trickling down the groins of labouring kinsmen,  And all their muscles are taut with effort,  The smell of dark loamy earth freshly upturned  Releases a singing trapped in the lungs of men.  Have you read:  Village Boy Impressions - The Matrimonial Dance The thrill of music banishes all weariness  And even the weakest muscle would gain  Momentum to break the moist earth with iron  Whilst hearts throb with the harmonious choruses;  Hymns that at once inspire, admonish, and entertain.  Chanting the village news as well as the secrets of men,  One is forced to pay as much heed as to work harder.  Every drop of gin sent coursing into half-empty bellies Lends leverage to even unwilling tongues And the sweetness of agreeable voices is released. Every deed of men is censured or eulo

The baobab tree stands bare in the dry season On an hallowed spot at home, Stands a tall, mighty baobab.  Steeped in myth and legend  A massive and hefty girth  Thick, wide and stout arms.  Bare in the rainless moons  And green cloaked with the showers.  From every house, it calls;  Girls and boys, men and women The old and the young,  The nimble and the slow,  Birds, bees, beasts, and bats.  To all and sundry it welcomes  With food, sweetness, and shelter.  In its arms; shrouded or naked,  Or under its shaded bare ground,  We play, we laugh, we rest, we court. Read:  Village Boy Impressions - The Seasons at Home In the rainy season, the baobab tree is usually cloaked green  For the fresh nourishing leaves Our mothers fight the caterpillars. And for the lip-smacking nectar, We wrestle with the bees at dawn. Fearing neither their ominous hum, Nor the eventual virulent sting. Devouring the budding flowers, Into tummies that