Village boy Impressions

Beware of using the road in Tamale Elsewhere you look left, look right And left again, then cross briskly Not here, not in Tamale. Here you look left look right Look back look front look sideways And begin all over again You do it once you do it ten times You’re still no nearer to finding space No one stops here no one pauses For another to use the road Not even if you were a centenarian On three legs or a toddler at the crèche   The motorbikes are the real menace Right way wrong way Walkways sideways Way behind you way across you  Way in front way all round you Like butterflies in a flowering field All other road users are in their way Pedestrians are but sheep Walking mindlessly across the way Motorbikes  cannot stop for sheep Even to use a zebra crossing When the cars stop for the sheep The motorbikes will run you over Asking if you were a zebra And double curse you In heathen tongues!   Everyone is in our way Even the scanty traffic light

  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

And the rains returned, Whilst men slumbered, Pouring all night long. And drop by drop, Globules of water Peeled off our cloak; Wiped our makeup; Uncovered our beauty, Our falsity, our sins. Shallow drains, Choked with our waste, Spilled their secrets Onto washed-out roads, Making running streams, Deep gullies and dicey paths. And with nowhere to go, Plundered our homes, And left us wailing.   All the sham is revealed, All the sleaze punished! But do we care? Do they care? Soon the rains will be gone And we will Hurriedly, Make the contacts, To inflate the contracts And ensure the kickbacks. Or vote a new loan, To procure the sham, And patch the scam. It is job for the boys. Tamale 31/08/2022