For enamels and pounds
Later forlet clay, rafter works
And turned to the seas and ships away
No sorrows, I and my friend can play
Kpapkangolo around the yard without a man to shout us away
My father, he left our mud huts
Derided rafter mats
And longed for vast castles in the lands after sea
No sorrow, the mango tree behind our hut is ovulating
How joyful to know that I can eat a basketful without a man to knock it out
He abandoned his father’s shrine
His morning duty of drinking palm-wine
For the chapels and temples over the railway line
Oh! Look the man I have become
At the start of harvest season
I, not my father shall have the first fruit offers neck deep in pocket.
As I sat to enjoy my ripened mangoes
I saw a man yon the fields
With a soured face wanting food and place
With semblance of my father
Same strut as my father’s
“The castles of Cheshire are nought like my father’s hut” He said.
The child and fear that had long fled me returned!
Written by: Nick Nazz Obodokasi Agbor
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.