Village boy Impressions

Mother Africa, beloved mother  How glorious in bloom you lie,  Beaming in the early morning dew.  Silent, peaceful, enduring, content.  Though some have named you dark,  Ever brightly your dark skin glows!  To others exotic, distant, remote.  Yet to us, there is no place more home  Many have called you wild and untamed.  Yet none is more accommodating.   Quietly you birthed and nurtured a humanity   That turns round to call you ‘discovered’.   Ever your charm, grandeur and enigma.   Are these the joys of your motherhood?  Have You Read:  Village Boy Impressions - Topsy-turvy? From the chalky desert of Egypt, so ancient,   To the frozen peak of Kilimanjaro, so majestic.   From the simmering Nyiragongo, so feisty,    To the Devil’s pool of stupendous Victoria  Rightly did the enchanted Livingstone speak;  You "must have been gazed upon by angels in their flight".  From the colourful salts of the Danakil,  To the Table mountains of Cape Good Hope.  The vast plains, moors and fer

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 and a m

“6th of March! March!  Nineteen fifty-seven, seven!  Ghaaana, independence day! Ghana is marching,  Ghana is marching, Ghana, Ghana,  Ghana is mar—ching!” Those were the words we sang, with our shrill voices Shuffling our feet and swinging our arms  Proud even though we knew little of what we sang And we all loved the '6th March' marching day, But surely that was a long long time ago. But what is there to tell about mother Ghana now? They say, we said our country was free forever And yet every day I see her in heavy chains They say, we said, we could manage our own affairs But when last I checked,  The Impossible Mission Fund (IMF) was still in charge. They say, they said, well, isn’t that all we know? The days have gone down in the west;  and now you are old, dear mother. The elderly should recount the good old days.  And the young talk endlessly about dreams,  And castles in the air But what do you talk about at your age?  'good ol