MOTHER DIED; THE CHILD SPOKE    #IAMNIGERIA

“Daughter,” said my father

I have wronged a woman who is your mother

For in our journey, I have usurped her strength

And made a mockery of her prowess

Remember the country we passed by?

It was her toil. It was the sweat of her palms

It was the mystery of her realms

How can I appease a woman who is no more?

How can I gather her seeds I have scattered?

Her purse has been emptied by my gross fatuity

And I have eaten her yams with its seedlings

Wake up, my child, rid your eyes of sleep

So, you do not replicate my mistakes

And our lineage be labelled unwise

Your mother, she was a fortress!

Foreigners ran to her in their languor

I remember them calling her the giant of Africa

She had skin like fresh nunu from the north,

Hair cascading down her back like the springs of Kainji dams

bosoms as full as a food basket

a goddess I “stan.”

“Father”, I said it is time for me to speak

And I implore you to listen

It is not age that determines wisdom

As the wise ages, so does the fool

You lament all day, and at night a bottle becomes your companion.

You beat your chest with the same hands that made your mistakes

And make light of your blunders

I watch you petition God amid your brethren.

I have seen you move from the shrines to worship grounds

And every time your maker just shook his head

How do you appease mother?

Rebuild her broken walls, give her dead memories a voice

Let her be like rain with hails, refreshing your soul but hard on your conscience

If you do what I say I will do what you do.