We don’t breathe air in Makoko slums.
We breathe what smells like the fear
of the height of the next and the next rain.
Each breath we draw is a gasp and grasp
for what survival is on the stilts of hopelessness.
The life we rise to at dawn curses the rain when
it gathers in the heavens. The rain thunders with
indignation, responds in floods– and steals our homes.
Then another rain falls. This time, it doesn’t steal a home.
It makes a home go missing. And when the home returns,
it returns with no head. The missing head stays afloat
in a survivor’s news, broken with a melancholic pitch,
rising and falling on death, and my father’s capsized boat
a rhythm in between. One sprouted limb resembles his
from the heap of the lifeless bodies of fishermen onshore.
This is the last time we will eat bread, say our mother’s
eyes– her body speaks a language every fatherless home
in Makoko slums understands. The staple of fatherless children
is hardness, since the breadwinner has been baked by fate.
Ishola Joshua is a Nigerian writer and poet whose works explore themes of contemporary realities, with the aim of satirically drawing attention to the neglected yet staunchly recurrent aspects of our society. His writing is to spark regard for the several relatable experiences that define our lives as humans. Connect with him X and Instagram (@Poet_Temi).
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