Village boy Impressions

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

Why are there so many derogatory comments for a girl? Bitch, ho, slut, thot, whore! Why is my worth found in my vagina? Why am I valued by how many I've lain with?   Read:  Village Boy Impressions - Unsung Heroines   Why is it wrong to be alone? Why is marriage seen as my end goal? Why am I insulted when I want no marriage? Why am I only seen as female when I marry? Click to Read:  Village Boy Impressions - The Kayayei's Tale Why is my worth, dictated by my children? Why am I less if I have none? Why is my son considered my child? I have a daughter here, does she not qualify? Why are my children mine when they are bad? Are they not their father’s too? Read:  Village Boy Impressions - Fathers   My sister, we live in a special kind of place Say no more about this age There is no peace for a woman here Nor can joy be found anywhere near Maybe, we’ll find them in a world Where there is no man Until then, endure this hell Death will come s

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