Why can't we all just get along? Do we really have to revenge every slight? Must we take it so much to heart and pass it on to ages? Why do we not let it slide? Why can't we all just get along? If Peter steps on John's foot does John really have to pick up a gun and shoot off Peter's toe? Sue doesn't really like Steve, why won't she let Mary have him? Why can't we all just get along? Does Ted deserve to die because unlike Bob he doesn't believe cucumbers are fruits? Do you really need all the sand on the beach for your oversized sandcastle? Why can't we all have our average sized castles? Why can't we all just get along? Stereotypes are wrong Lions can be vegetarians Fart does not always stink Why can't we all just get along? I know a son of the East that will not sell his neighbour's land I've been shown great kindness by a man from the north A man of the south o...
I thought I knew why the caged bird sang I thought I knew her tune She sang for peace, she sang for progress At least I thought she did The caged bird sings a conflict Now, ululations for the master Then, wailing like a mourner The caged bird sings of fight and flight Why does the caged bird sing? Today, for food for her young Tomorrow, for fear for her life Praises one minute, malediction the next I fear the caged bird loses its heart For even the proud Ugo will bow for crumbs To fight and starve, or die and live? For what does the caged bird sing? Anita Jacob
We are not the vanquished. “Ndaa Mercy? Ndaa Mercy?” the woman asked, looking around the foot of the tree where some of us children had been gathered and instructed to sit and wait. Mma Mercy was a very fat woman and as she ran around the tree looking into each child’s face, her arms jiggled. At that time, not a lot of people were fat; food was scarce because we were not free to go to the farm frequently, and the crops the soldiers did not eat had to be rationed and was mostly left for the children. Yet, somehow, Mma Mercy was quite fat. She had just returned from the farm where she had gone to harvest the little that she could find. On her way back, she had seen the billowing smoke and had been told by the people she had met on the road that the children had been taking by the men into the forest, where they could be safe from the bloodthirsty marauders. The minute Mma Mercy realized that her daughter was not among the other children there, she gasped in horror and without a w...
There was a country Built on pride and prejudice blood and gore Groans and grit Built by the men, pushed to the wall, with nowhere to go There was a country A place where we felt safe Like we were in our father's obi Where we did not have to hide For everyman was brother There was a country A people, a movement, a spirit We had faith in ourselves We had the respect of the enemy We had no ties, but we were rooted There was a country They try today to make us forget that such a dream ever was real Sticks and stones may break our bones, But our hearts never will forget this truth You may imprison our name, but not our spirit. There used to be a country; our country, Our land of unity in barefaced dignity.
In Sambisa A light flickers from a long concealed match Footsteps are heard The flicker is doused The match quickly concealed The little one is groaning again Her first mark of womanhood has come In this madhouse But this place is not a house This mad forest This must be the evil forest The one of which Uwar told In her lilting voice, in the ancient story Of seven heads on one shoulder Dancing trees and chuckling tortoise Of a beautiful girl, An unheeded advice And a ghost with borrowed limbs Uwar must have told the story wrong This evil forest This persistently dark place Has not the evil spirits The kind of which Uwar told These evil spirits, for that they must be Look like men One head, two malevolent eyes Two legs that aim for the ribs Two hands that grope one minute And smack before one can say Insha Allah
"Why can’t I just go tomorrow like everyone else? We know she invited me to rub our faces in their money.” I wailed at my mother. “You are going for your cousin’s bridal shower. The end.” My mom was unmoved by my wailing. “Look on the bright side Nene, you get to sleep at a veeeeery fancy hotel, with such great white beds and hot showers.” Jenny, my sister said, always the ray of sun. I still didn’t want to go. An hour later, I’d tried everything and I had no other reason to stay. I bid my mom and sister goodbye and reluctantly trudged towards the gate. On my way to the Golden Tulip Hotel at GRA, I wondered what the night would turn out to be like. Miranda is my cousin, the daughter of my mother’s sister. We were not friends. Her mother married a rich man and so they were financially better than my mom was, yet, for some reason her mom was envious of my mom. According to family gossip, she had always envied my mom. She envied her marriage, her children, her happiness...
Dear Lord, Forgive me. I have become the people I detest. In my detest, I was tested with the same test; I failed. In my mind, I have thought the same thoughts that made them thorns. Their thorns are on their tongues; My barb is worse, for I bite back with no bark Will you assure me That you take away the pressure in no small measure, That I will regard and hate not, That I will be content and quench contest, Run between my lines and look down only to help the fallen? Shall you not give me some vial that holds appreciation impartial? The elixir that will clean the rust Off my hateful heart , Like lather displaces stain Love me again, dear Lord For in my occupation with a speck, I have forgotten to love myself
THE TORTOISE AND THE OWAMBE PARRY – A PARODY OF THE FOLKTALE "The Tortoise and the Feast in Heaven" Once upon a time, in the kingdom of the animals, which is in the same area as the kingdom of the humans, but on an underground level, there was a scarcity of food. The king of the animals, who of course is the lion, had spent a lot of the kingdom’s funds on his daughter’s fancy schmancy wedding. His daughter was an ignorant, private-college-flunking, makeup-abusing, designer-clothes-wasting, finstagram-disturbing lioness. Nobody liked the lion’s daughter. Come to think of it, no one liked the lion either. No one really knew why he was king, he just was. Well, in his favour, he did have the loudest roar in the kingdom; and apparently, noise rules. Anyways, the lion was king. The kingdom was broke. The tortoise was hungry. The tortoise, as you probably know, was never one for hard work. The tortoise loved to chill. He liked to kickback, sip sprite, chew on some good...
Africa is no distinct fashion style to be admired for its exotic qualities. It is a people. Africa is in my skin, in the smooth dark, velvetiness of it. It is in the palm kernel oil that makes me glow. Africa is in me. Africa is in the way the paddles hit the surface of the water. It is in the colours tied about the long boat It is in the vibrant movements of the paddlers. Africa is vigorously graceful Africa is in Atilogwu It is in the slashing steps of the dancers and the reckless twists that leave one gaping It is in the proud firm breasts that dare you, the haughty flick of the head Africa is carefree Africa is in the many colours of the akwete It is in the tall and wide gele It is in the smooth cornrows Africa is regal Africa is in the veins on the hard arms of our young men It is in their quick response to danger and the way they protect their women It is in the sound of the drums that cause my heart to beat in its rhythm Africa is strong. Africa is in ...
Stubborn hope Dogged hope What makes hope dogged? Is it because he is happy to see the same master that whips him at will? Or is it because he digs with claws persistent, till he has found the morsel he seeks? Maybe because he bravely leaps into the path of his oversized troublers and courageously or foolishly barks in their faces Hope is a woman sitting up after the lights have gone with food on the table and heat ready to make it warm again; for the man who may or may not come, who will be intoxicated with cheap liquids, who will eat greedily and ungraciously and who will leave handprints on her skin like some kind of violent biometric, but she never expects it Hope is three children sleeping on cartons laid on the cold floor, clutching raggedy ragdolls in a dark, dank space each dreaming of a different place where there is warmth and there is light and heaps of food one could eat for days and a father who while the sun shines makes hay Hope is the mas...
EVERYDAY PEOPLE A Story That Could Be Shorter and Happier MAY “I want to inform the general public that we have met with the critical stakeholders in that community, and I want to assure you that ehh… the security ehh… challenges will not escalate. The leaders in the community have agreed to ehh…keep an eye on their subjects. A curfew has been placed on the areas where violence has been prevalent. I can promise you that with the decisions made in this meeting, peace has come to Mesa State” “Ok sir, I understand there are curfews in those areas now, and that is great, but has security been beefed up in the affected areas?” “Eh?” “I asked, has security been beefed up, that is, has security been increased in the affected areas?” “ok, yes. The Inspector general of police has decided to deploy enough police officers to the affected areas.” “alright, so the IGP has decided, has he actually deployed the security personnel? Also, you say enough police officers, how mu...
I was recently told that Adam knew exactly what he was doing when he ate the apple. He did it for love. My informant says Adam could not bear to be away from Eve, so he ate the apple and was punished with her. Adam considered the consequences of Eve’s action and the after-effects. He knew life outside the garden would not be great, but he could not imagine a life without Eve. After a long day instructing the animals on who to eat and who not to eat, where to poop and where not to poop, et cetera, he’d have had to return to an empty tree, field, cave, or wherever those guys slept. Adam would have had to forget about a cuddle and in its stead settle for a long-distance phone call to the love of his life. Adam: Hey Bone! I missed you today. I wish you were here with me; we could have ridden the elephant together and shared a honeycomb or two. Eve: Hey Adam: Why do you sound so glum, hibiscus? Eve: I don’t want you to worry about me, it’s nothing Adam: Come on,...
My heart was the most guarded Obi Everyone feared to approach I gave bitter leaf for Oji Burning arrows for greetings You came, light-footed and unarmed I lost my stone walls One brick fell, each second you stood out there I wanted you to stay, so I dug up the thorns It wasn’t enough, I lined my courts with roses I see you, I watch you tensely You walk over the ruins, cautious You don’t know, I ripped out the land mines for you Unasked, I tore down my gates to let you in Old habits die hard I’d rather be found than surrender I wait behind a crumbling curtain My heart was the most secure Obi Today, there are no guards *Obi - The main building in traditional compounds in Igbo Land *Oji - Kolanut, used to welcome guests in Igbo Land CHINYERE ODUM
Once upon a time, there was a royal palace and the big chief was lord of the land. Oh! Then we knew to step aside when the big chief walked past. If the king’s guard knocked us on the head with a club for talking to the big chief without permission, we understood and we humbly apologized, because we knew that the big chief was of royal blood and the gods were with him. We didn’t mess with the gods because they had a habit of striking people with little plagues like madness, inescapable poverty, childlessness, unappealingly erratic swelling of the balls and occasionally big ones like death and the terrible curse dooming your soul to wander for eternity or to wander until your soul tires of wandering and sits in a place. In those good old monarchical days, we didn’t have a problem with the big chief choosing his replacement on the big seat when he had tired of the job. If we had any contrary opinions, we kept them to ourselves. The big chief was the smartest; whatever decision he too...
Ebiere, The darkness of your skin is blinding Your voice makes me cry I melt at your singing Have you seen your eyes? Ebiere, I envy your bosom I wish I had your strength Your smile is blossom Can I touch your hair? Ebiere, Tell me why you walk like one unsure Tell me why you smile at all and seek approval Don't you know you own the square? Don't you see the worship in their eyes? Ebiere, If I were a man I'd go to far off lands to find gifts to make you happy When I find them I'd race back to you so I can watch your face light up I'm a woman Ebiere, I can only watch the men watch you My man stares after you, I can only wish I look like you
It happened last night, my first sexual intercourse as a married woman. There’s no surprise there. Then again, this sexual intercourse of which I speak was not with my husband. SURPRISE! My name is Kainene. You see, I am a girl from a family of many girls. Father feels the only way he can improve our drab life, is to give away all of his daughters to rich men, he calls it marriage. I was the kind of girl that spent recess in school bent over the desk, reading a paperback. I was also the kind of girl who said “recess” instead of “breaktime” in the village school. I had really big dreams; I was going to study law at the university, become a big lawyer, have a lot of money, marry the perfect man and live happily ever after in a mansion with four lovely kids; simply put. Days after leaving school, my mother called me out of the room I shared with 3 siblings. I came out to meet her with my index finger in-between the pages of a John Grisham novel. “Nene! You and books! You have finished s...
I get tired of the country's system I'm not sure we listen to ourselves "I won't pay your wages, but here's what I'll do, I'll hike up the fuel prices so you have to pay more to get to work, I'll charge ridiculous amounts for your child's tuition fees, I'll frustrate the traders with fees that have long names so they'll increase prices of goods, I still won't pay your wages. Don't go on strike tho, if you do, I'll call you lazy and start another institution to compete with the one I've not paid you for working in. Unity! Freedom! Transformation! Power to the masses!" I get really tired of the country's system You tell me you can give me a wheelchair, but first, "write a 10-page essay on why you should get this wheelchair that you can't afford, type it on brown paper, put it in a green envelope, hand-deliver it to the state furthest from you, then, only then, do you stand a chance to get th...
What would you have me do? Do you want me to speak or be mute? Do you want meto fight or stay put? Would you like the lie or the truth? You say I have the right to speak, do I really? May I climb up to this stage, amplify my voice and yell, “you’re a bloody liar”? May I please look you in the eye and say I hate you? I hate you for your greed. I hate you for your two-facedness You stood regal and tall in the traditional attire that made us think you were a man of the people And you said to us, “I am different” We believed you, we desperately wanted to But you lied, you shoved our hopes right back in our faces. I don’t like you You came down to our streets looked at the tangle of poverty and neglect. You shook your head, lamented at the disgrace and you made a tearful speech. We said to each other “look! Do you see how he is touched? This one feels what we’re going through” With our thumbs we perfected our doom. You raped our minds and stol...
