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Africa culture/tradition education folklore Igbo culture lifestyle Nature Pastoral Poetry

Messenger

igbo-gong

Kokookoroko kokorokoro
A greeting called from afar
The children ran out excited
As if the message was for them
But then who knows?
Heads up, listen attentively
Komkom korookom
Another beat rang out
Pushing the mild hit
Into the ears of the heaviest village sleeper
‘Oh how cute, it is one of the King’s messengers’
‘A tall and fine one for that matter’
A group of young women chatter

The morning of a market day
Even before the sun starts his journey
The gong goes before the man,
A metal gong tells the whole clan
The tidings of the hamlet
The days not to visit the rivulet
The day to farm the deep forest
And when a service the King request,
The boxing day, a vengeful day,
Of long brooms stalked away
Up the roof barns where fish smoke,
And the wielder showing teeth tobacco soiled

When the messenger comes
Mama will always say
To bright little ones
‘Listen attentively, listen with your ears
They might have a message for you or you,
From the King or the brave hunters
Come from across the seven hills
And seven rivers of Far Away Land
So you must listen attentively
There must be wisdom in every muttering’

Then each time it all comes to me
Even now I on my face keep beards
I still listen when all is quiet
Then in my mind goes Krookoko-kom-kom!

***

Start your blogging here.

Krookokom… As in Onomatopoeia of sound made by gongs.

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Africa culture/tradition education folklore lifestyle Nature Pastoral Poetry

Two Poems: Together we watch day end and my Dancer

(1) TOGETHER WE WATCH DAY END

Baobab and Palm are shelters,
Glittering stars are my friends,
Waterfalls and Lions, my brothers
And together we watch day end.

(2) MY DANCER

I steal a glance when you dance
Memories of pouting lips haunt me
I dreamed of you and I once
But wished it away if we won’t be

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Africa culture/tradition education folklore Igbo culture lifestyle Nature Pastoral

Folktale: The Tortoise and His Broken Shell

Gather around friends, how was your day today? Good to know it was fine. Mine wasn’t bad either. I hope this breezy evening give us more than this wonderful folktale I’m about to tell. Remember to note the morals that accompany it. I have also italicized the proverb in the story.

Once upon a time all the birds were invited to a feast in the sky. They were very happy and began to prepare themselves for the great day. They painted their bodies with red cam wood and drew beautiful patterns on their bodies with uli*.

Tortoise saw all these preparations and soon discovered what was about happening. He was full of cunning and greedy. As soon as he heard of the great feast in the sky his throat began to itch at the very thought. There was a famine in those days and he had not eaten a good meal for two moons. So he began to plan how he would go to the sky. Tortoise had no wings, so he went to the birds and asked to be allowed to go with them.

“We know you too well,” said the birds when they heard him. “You are full of cunning and you are ungrateful. If we allow you to come with us, you will soon begin your mischief.”

“You do not know me,” said Tortoise. “I am a changed person. I have learned that a man who makes trouble for others is also making it for himself.”

Tortoise had a sweet tongue, and within a short time all the birds agreed that he was a changed person, and they each gave him a feather with which he made two wings.

At last the great day came and Tortoise was the first to arrive at the meeting place. When all the birds had gathered together, they set off in a body. Tortoise was very happy as he flew among the birds, and he was soon chosen as the person to speak for the party because he was a great orator.

“There is one important thing which we must not forget,” he said as they flew on their way. “When people are invited to a great feast like this, they take new names for the occasion. Our hosts in the sky will expect us to honor this age-old custom.”

None of the birds had heard of this custom but they knew that Tortoise, in spite of his failings in other directions, was a widely-traveled man who knew the customs of different peoples. And so they each took a new name. When they had all taken, Tortoise also took one. He was to be called “All of you.”

At last the party arrived in the sky and their hosts were very happy to see them. Tortoise stood up in his many-colored plumage and thanked them for their invitation. His speech was so eloquent that all the birds were glad they had brought him, and nodded their heads in approval of all he said. Their hosts took him as the King of the birds, especially as he looked somewhat different from the others.

After kola nuts were presented and eaten, the people of the sky set before their guests the sweetest dishes Tortoise had even seen or dreamed of. The soup was brought out hot from the fire and in the very pot in which it had been cooked. It was full of meat and fish. There were pounded yam and also yam pottage cooked with palm-oil and fresh fish. There were also pots of palm-wine. When everything had been set before the guests, one of the people of the sky came forward and tasted a little from each pot. He then invited the birds to eat. But Tortoise jumped to his feet and asked: “For whom have you prepared this feast?”

“For all of you,” replied the man.
Tortoise turned to the birds and said “You remember that my name is All of you. The custom here is to serve the spokesman first and the others later. They will serve you when I have eaten.”

He began to eat and the birds grumbled angrily. The people of the sky thought it must be their custom to leave all the food for their King. So Tortoise ate the best part of the food and drank two pots of palm-wine, so that he was full of food and drink and his body filled out in his shell.

The birds gathered round to eat what was left and to peck at the bones he had thrown all about the floor. Some of them were too angry to eat. They chose to fly home on an empty stomach. But before they left each took back the feather he had lent to Tortoise. And there he stood in his hard shell full of food and wine but without any wings to fly home. He asked the birds to take a message for his wife, but they all refused. In the end Parrot, who had felt more angry than the others, suddenly changed his mind and agreed to take the message.

“Tell my wife,” said Tortoise, “to bring out all the soft things in my house and cover the compound with them so that I can jump down from the sky without much danger.”

Learn Igbo language here.

Parrot promised to deliver the message, and then flew away with the others. But when he reached Tortoise’s house he told his wife to bring out all the hard things in the house. And so she brought out her husband’s hoes, machetes, spears, guns and even his cannon. Tortoise looked down from the sky and saw his wife bringing things out, but it was too far to see what they were. When all seemed ready he let himself go. He fell and fell and fell until he began to fear that he would never stop falling. And then like the sound of his cannon he crashed on the compound.

His shell broke into pieces. Luckily there was a great medicine man in the neighborhood. Tortoise’s wife sent for him and he gathered all the bits of shell and stuck them together. That is why Tortoise’s shell is not smooth.

Categories
Africa culture/tradition education lifestyle Love and Christianity Nature Pastoral Poetry Series

Health, our new Wealth

Health is the new wealth! Here are some factors that may help us live healthy.

Our psychology play a major role in our wellbeing. If you think healthy thoughts, you’ll be healthy. Thinking healthy means being conscious of our internal and external environment and knowing how to maintain a proper balance.

As a man thinketh in his heart so is he…

Our lifestyle matters too. Observing adequate siesta is good. Sleep is part of human nature and it’s the best way to rest important organs in the body. Adequate sleep is required if we desire to be strong mentally and physically. Our choice of nutrition, exercise, feeding habits and personal hygiene also affect our wellbeing.

Water! Ah, water is life. It’s obvious that man and water are inseparable. The earth surface consists about 70% of water and man is made up of water! Oxygen contains water too. So clean water is important. While we may enjoy beverages, wine, and others, we must not forget that water still remain the best option.

Happiness is a healthy factor. Happily, happiness is free and no one but ourselves can control our happiness! Studies reveal that happy people tend to live longer. Peace of mind come from being happy and this has a way of affecting our health!

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Africa culture/tradition Nature Pastoral Poetry

Tungan Maje By Michelle Basil

Our relationship with family and friends, with our immediate environment and passion for others makes us human.

Michelle Basil is my guest this beautiful and sunny morning. This is her story.

Michelle believes that simple things in life matter. She is a lover of outdoors, sunshine and trees. Her favourite spot is Tungan Maje, the town she grew up in. Outspoken and bold, artistically and physically, Michelle takes us on how nature makes her fancy.

Michelle reveals that Tungan Maje means a market under the tree. Since her primary education days, Michelle had always wanted to know the first market that gave the village its name. She says she will find out soon and I hope she shares her findings with us.

The village is beautiful and is located in Gwagwalada Area Council of Abuja, Nigeria. Michelle notes that the people are industrious and that the village’s older folk look young.

‘Their youthful agility never leaves them.’ She recalls.

Michelle’s artistic images portrays her love for nature and outdoor reflection and games. She writes stories in her free time.

‘I can do this all day.’ She says. ‘Stay out with the greens and watch them smile, wondering most times if they ever feel the way we humans do and what if they do.’

Thank you Michelle! It’s nice to have you here.

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Africa folklore Igbo culture Lessons from Experiences Love and Christianity Nature Pastoral Poetry Uncategorized

Poetale after the Days work

Now we gather by the fireside
Waiting for yams to roast
Warming our hands in the heat
On this evening, cool and mild

The dreams we wait to dream
The waiting pillow beckoning
The tales in hopes of telling
And a joyful evening it seems

The hot day had gone up those hills
Releasing a warm blanket
Bought in the busy Orie market
To shade all from Night’s will

To my little pieces of paper
Hanging here and there
I gather with extreme care
Getting ready a story to prepare

And today was gone like before
Running away from me
Though why, I could not see
Croaky frogs outside bother me more

Then a short prayer I knee to say
Oh Dear Lord, keeper of my soul
I come before Thee with my folklore
Let my tales be for Thy Glory I pray

***

Note: Orie market: Generally Orie is one of the market days in many parts of Igbo land. Market days in Igbo land include Orie, Eke, Nkwo and Afor. In my hometown, the market centre bears the name Oriendu- a market that buys and sells in intervals of 8days.

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Palm wine

Have you tasted the palm wine?

It is mother Nature’s own brew

A combined effort of yeast and man

Trained in the early morning dew

If you ever come to West Africa

Do not let the landscape fool you

Look to the quiet traditional bars

And enjoy a bottle or two

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Introducing the African Folklore

Folklore are tales, legends, superstitions of a particular ethnic population. In Igbo and other African societies, story telling is unique, such that it is a passage to transmit the culture and tradition from one generation to another. These tales generally convey the history, messages and old knowledge. They are meant to teach morals and virtues to younger people. I have been privileged to remember some tales. I was very close to the older folk in the community. I love the rural life and always traveled with my aunt during school holidays to my hometown to stay with my Grandma. On one occasion, I recall traveling with my aunt and in the hurry forgot all my shorts save from the one I traveled on. As my Grandma had no boy and so couldn’t provide shorts I was made to wear skirts. It amuses me when I remember that; running around with other kids in my red skirt! I was very little and prefered the skirt to going naked. They still call me Mr Piper, after the famous Scottish wrestler and we all laugh over it.

Most times, tales are told in the evening, after dinner and when everyone was back from work. In extended and nuclear families, tales are normally told near a charcoal fire outside, preferably under the shed of a tree, on a moon light night. If the tale was to be heard by all, then it will be near the village square. The story teller mostly will be an elderly person. We the younger ones had tried our hands in story telling. I guess this was the origin of my interest in story telling.

Learn Igbo language here.

Tortoise is the primary actor or villain in Igbo tales. He is portrayed as a shrewd person who cunningly gets what he wants and sometimes fails. According to my Grandma and my aunt, Alibo is the name of the Tortoise wife. I can’t remember the sons’ name but it will not matter, he can always bear the son of the Tortoise. There are other notable characters in African folk; the dog, snake, boar, elephant, lion, crocodile, cricket, leopard and the rest. Mind you, the names one ethnic group give their characters may differ from another. I hope you enjoy the tales.

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Tradition: Breaking the Igbo Kola nut 2 (Iwa oji Igbo)

Onye wetara oji, wetara ndu. Ndi be anyi ekelem unu oo.

God our tryst maker! Chinekem ke b’nigwe!

The One that holds the Earth with bare hands

And causes the winds to soar where You wills

My God, we have gathered once again to celebrate

To enjoy the life which you have blessed us with!

Nna anyi ukwu, You hold the knife and the yam

You give the sunshine and the rainfall to everyone-

The bad and the good, all savor the providence You gave

Now we bring the kola nut before You

We bless, we pray that we remain fruitful as this fruit

That the streams give us fish, the land more yams

And the farms much more fruitful than yesterdays harvest

We break this kola nut and as it breaks

So shall our enemies and foes break!

Let the Eagle perch, let also the Kite,

Any that forbids the other from perching

May the wings break!

May our children bear children like the Hebrew

May the winds bring us good tidings and fair weather

May our friendship know no limits but greatness

And may this kola nut bring us all good fortune!

Learn Igbo language here.

***

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Commentary: The Igbo tribe is an Eastern Nigerian tribe. Known for their prowess in business, enterprise and commerce wherever they settle. This piece is a traditional prayer of the Igbo people used to welcome visitors and to bless marriages, friendships, goodwill and ventures.

Onye wetara oji, wetara ndu. Ndi be anyi ekelem unu oo: Him that brings the kola, brings life.

Chinekem ke b’nigwe: My God who lives in Heaven.

Nna anyi ukwu: Our great Father

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Poetry

Death of a masquerade

When the cocks wake the clan in the morn with their calls

I remember you, your memories are like my room walls 

First, I must congratulate you for not dying completely 

For telling us why we must abandon the village for the city, 

For leaving the clans people with only strands of what you did, 

And guesses of who was behind your mask, a puzzle on our mind

I remember you abandoning your strong hands for the spoon and fork

You feed yourself, but you knew your mouth was unsatisfied with that work 

*

I remember you eating your tomato salads from cans

Throwing the tin and plastics about the land 

So that our children played. Kicking them and cutting their foot

And when the rain’s flood came, we found the cans in our rivulet

*

I remember you dancing under the moon with the others

Drawing knowledge from the tales our ancient ones offered 

Speaking to the ears of everyone, ‘a word is enough for the wise’

Until you began to see wisdom, looking for specks in others eyes

The dance and folklore gatherings became a child’s play

The tent that housed the age grade meetings now was on your way; 

You will have none of the villages unhealthy games and palm beer

But in your heart of hearts you long for these moments, with desire 
*

I remember you running like a mad masquerade 

On a busy festivity day, striking the defenseless

Blowing hungry fumes from your hidden nostrils

Oblivious of the approaching vehicle

Which was to become your slow death… 

I remember you… 

Note. 
Can you see that the African culture is dying casually? The tradition is laid bare and so ethics that once governed here are disregarded. What must be done to bring back our language, customs, food, dressing, vissicitude and values? 

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African Tradition: Calling upon the African rain storm

‘The land is hungry, so are my words…
Let’s make it rain… Let’s flood the dry earth and let the ink flow again!’

Now I seek to hear the sound of the rain fall
Yes let it rumble through the clouds
Like the stomach of a child about to purge
The vegetations here attest to the growing might
The stars are gone, gone out of the human sight
But this strange wind is not ordinary, it is the rain!

And when it rain, let it flood the drought lands
Let it fill everybodies pots, drums and calabashes
Let it water every sick vegetable all over the globe
Let it feed the cattle and wildlife everywhere on Earth
Let it fall and refresh the dying world
And let some rain dampen the ground on which we walk
In the morning we shall see a new seed sprout!

The tent doors shake with the coming wind
Here comes the might of the heavy rain herself
She twist and turns, hovers and manoevres, up and down
The great emissary of this rain; the wind plays about

Let me feel the smooth airs that come with it
Let me feel the wingless surge of the breeze
Let me feel the sweet whisper and kiss of mother Nature
Let the rooftop play me a fanciful drum of many beats
As my eyes close quietly, let a heavy rain fall!

Now I make the rain fall, wait and listen to it!

Commentary.

In Africa and some other parts of the globe, men are known to make rain fall. It is a craft which some have used for selfish reasons or for the general good of the clan.

This is purely imagined piece.

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Folk: One night, one story

It has been long I left my village
And they must have felt my absence
For the moon still shone always
But then no one to tell the childrens tales
I missed seeing the grey bearded moon
I missed the serenity of the countryside
I missed seeing the birds circle the sky
And the calls of the wild when all is quiet
I missed friendly and homely smiles
I missed the wisdom the old folk gave me
And I missed walking thru the fields
Lonely and hopeful of seeing a wild animal
I missed eating smoke fish and melon balls
I missed feeling powerful for slaying a snake
In the farm and for demolishing loaves of garri…
Hmmm I missed it, mostly missed the quietness
Of the hamlet when all left for work or the farm
***
Now I went back for some rest
An escape from the city’s noise
Oh, I so hate the hustle bustle…
***
Nothing much changed…
Save from new growing trees
And old stubs halfcut from the middle
As usual the airs were welcoming
The evenings like a sweet paradise
And the people nothing new…
Save from new born babies
Suckling away at their mothers breast
Yelling wildly at slightest provocation
The trees have no fresh fruit
I have learnt I came when the harvest
Is done- well, I missed home so much
***
”Pay attention to this little tale
Of a land far far away…
Where stays a lake, quiet and calm
And on it, lived a duck and her family
Three ducks names- Daak, Deek and Duuk
They so much enjoyed the cool lake
The serenity which was unrivalled
In the whole land…
***
‘Quack quack Daak’ she began
Turning to the nearest duck
‘You have been friends
With the old grey Turtle
You know the Lakes’ waters
More than your siblings
But I pray, tell me
How many times would
Something happen to you
And you would learn?’
‘Quack quack mother
Sure I would learn, but only
When it happen, and all times!’
The first duck answered
Mother Duck nodded thoughtfully
And turned to the next duck
‘Quack quack Duuk, come closer
You are not scared of the weeds
You even fought off the black Eels
But tell me, my little brave one
How many times will you learn?’
‘Quack quack mother
But I can only learn If it happened to me’
Mother Duck nodded thoughtfully
And she turned to the last
‘Quack quack Little Deek
You are scared of all ripples
And the neighborhood fishes
You have made only few friends
I wonder, but let me know
How many times will you learn?’
‘Quack quack mother
I won’t learn from any misdids
I shall learn from others mistakes
I shall watch the Eels movements
And all crafty ripples upon the lake
That are not made by my kind
And I shall always be careful
For to survival, one must be cautious’

Commentary:
Well said Little Deek Duck! I guess but I think she is the wisest duck I ever saw in my life!
Sometimes, it is better to follow events with wits… Not falling victim/prey to what comes our way. learning from peoples past mistakes and not trying to repeat those. Being friendly and brave might not be enough to cushion challenges/problems/issues we face… We need to be cautious.

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Nneoma

Nneoma, nwayi oma m ji eme onu
Obidiya,
Anam ede akwukwo a
N’ihi gi, n’ihi ihunanya gi
Iru gi di ka mmiri no n’iyi
Ochi gi na-eme m obi uto
Enweghi ihe m ga eji tunyere ya

Lee kwa mgbe akwa n’egbum
I kpom si
“Bia, kam bie gi oma
Tinye aka gi n’akam
Biko kwusi ibe akwa”
Lee kwasim anya na anya
Nwayi mara mma
Mara udiri udo na anuri
Di na obim tata

Mgbe ubosi na adada
I na eche m nche
Mgbe oke oyi na atu
I nye akwa gi
Mgbe agu di n’obodo
I nyem ihe oriri gi

Mara nke a, nwayi oma
Mara na m huru gi n’anya

Commentary.
There is a translation after this commentary. Here goes my first native poem in Igbo language! The Igbo is a south east Nigerian nation. I can’t say why this poem came today or why it hasn’t come before now. I have looked forward to writing more in African languages with appropriate translation in English. I dedicate this poem to all my loved ones, to friends and well wishers, to you my beloved readers and finally to all mothers.

Title: Sweet Mother

Sweet mother, my pride!
The husbands heart beat
I write this piece
Cos of you, cos of your love
Your face glitter like the waters of the stream
Your laughter gives me joy
Nothing compares to it!

Even when I cry before you,
You call to me, saying
“Come to me dear
Give me your hands
Please, stop crying”
Now look at my eyes
Beautiful and good woman
And know the kind of joy
That brews in my heart!

When night comes upon us
You shield me
When the cold is terrible
You give your warmth
Even when famine comes
You give me your food

And please know this dear mother
I am so in love with you

Learn Igbo language here.

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The Rainmakers Tale: Tradition

PROLOGUE
Give me some rain,
Take away the present situation
Let the wind bid me warn again
Give me rain, dear Heaven!

(1.)
Let if flood the browned farmlands
Let it refresh the waters of the ponds
And the hards rocks upon the dry Earth
Let the hamlet be full of the wet clay salt

(2.)
The Heavens will rumble
I summon the East winds
I knee before the passing clouds
I hear the aves call out loud

(3.)
I summon thee Wind from afar
And She quietly comes binding alas
It throws the heavy mighty doors ajar
And what a rain that must fall, aa-hah!

(4.)
The clear clouds are darkened
The firmaments are blackened
There is a powerful surge of wind,
To the East where it always stayed

(5.)
On such evenings when all is weak and wiery
When the rain falls on this hamlet, hurriedly
My long candle lights become crimson with fury
As my light-grey curtains dance in sheer frenzy

EPILOGUE
So right now I am standing,
I stand beneath the falling rains
I chose to, for it is my special calling
And I thank Heaven for this blessing!

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Masquerades

Strings of flax fall from your stress
Hides carved from animal skin
And strange cloth embellish you

You swerve around like a drunk
Scaring children and younger folk
Caring for nothing but for asunder
The masks on you remind of the hyena
Your whip draggin behind you as you walk
As you seek peoples’ doors to knock
The dogs are scared of your appearance
For they cant stop your uninvited attendance
At homes, mothers yell for their kids
But you only care for your needs

Learn Igbo language here.

Now palm beer is brought before you
And some lobes of finest of kola nut
For appeasing of the spirits which is come
Unto men from the ancient hills and caves
Let the kettle see the pot as a friend
And not as a foe for they two are black
Let the Eagle perch and the Kite as well
None should forbid the other from perching
Now have your fill of your beer
For your next bus stop
The wine might not be as good as this

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I am Igbo

I am Igbo
Not because I am fair
Not because I am tall
…Or short

I am Igbo
Not because I travel a lot
Not because I live in hamlets
… And towns

I am Igbo
Not because I live in Africa
Not because I sell for profits
… Or for loss

I am Igbo
Not because I say so
Not because I am hated
… Or loved

I am Igbo
Because I am a culture
A tradition, not just a tribe
But a people,
A great people of God
A poet and a farmer
A technician and a scholar
Hope of the African race
Born through thick and thin
Fearing no man
But God who made all

I am tradition
A masquerade
In the village square

I am a stream
Flowing in peace
Washing mens nakedness

I am a hunter
Who dares wild beasts
And strikes with no fear

I am hope
Accompanied with faith
With the fear of God

I am a fisherman
Trailing my traps
Tucked away in creeks

I am a farmer
The one who feeds the clan
Eze-ji, king of yams!

I am the dibia, the physician
The one who heals
Throught the help of the Almighty

I am a rainmaker
A descendant
Of the shadows of men
Striving to be free

I am just a man
Who live quietly
Fearing no man or deity
But the One True God
I am Igbo!

Igbo Kwenu!

Learn Igbo language here.

Note:
The Igbo is a Southern tribe in Nigeria, renowned for their industry, entreprise and daring attitude. Basically the poet seems to link his tribes culture to religion. The Igbos are predominantly Christians and can be seen in every profession the world can offer.

Dibia: Locally called the medicine man or the herbalist feared and reverred in ancient times to possess powers beyond human comprehension.

Eze ji: The King of Yams.

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The Winds Tale: A call of the Hills

The call of the hills…
On a night dark as pitch

We stay listening to the swooshing trees

And the strange call up the hills…

A tornado of wind come surfing down

Pushing the brushes and woods apart

Sending both man, child and pets scrambling

Tall and strong wild palms bend double

Threatening to crush who dare stare

The dark clouds growl like a young lion

Shaking the breadths of the firmaments

The firmaments rumblings shook everyone

Wide eyed infants, the whistling pine and the Owl

The dogs bark and hide behind their kennels

Tethered farm animals shriek with fear

The cold came, and with such a surge!

It wooed the candle light

Which danced with such excitement

But the Rain never came

The Rain was locked out

Today was not his own day

A night as such as this

A windy tale to be told
An inspiration hewn down the hill
From up the dark firmaments of the night

From the hills of an African hamlet…

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Breaking the Kola

God our tryst maker
Our lover and He who knows all
Chineke m, ke bi nigwe!
Maker of the Universe
He whom fetches water with a basket
To disgrace the bucket
He who whips us with one hand
And consoles us with the other
He who stills a raging sea
He who made the Kola nut
The King of all foods!
We break the Kola nut
The food that never fills the stomach
But is the King of all foods!
We have the Cassava and the Yam
But the Kola is the King of all foods!
Unlike the Yam, it is not eaten with Palm oil
It is not pounded nor stewed
It is not meshed in meat or fish
It stands alone
It is not a food for children
But a food for men!
Our farms shall be fruitful
Our children more fruitful
Our streams shall have fish
And our forests shall have vegetables
Make us contented with what we have
The clouds will let the rains water our garden
And we shall eat of our sweat

   Learn Igbo language here

You have given us the yam
You have also given us the knife to cut it
Let the Eagle perch
Let also the Kite perch
Any that forbids the other from perching
Let his wings break
Let not our enemies hostile light burn us
We shall have our children as the Hebrew women
Our children shall have their own
And our children’s children
We break the Kola!

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Commentary.
Sharing a bit of my African culture. The Igbo is a South Eastern Nigerian tribe. As a growing kid some decades ago I have witnessed Igbo Kola breaking traditions. It’s normally used to welcome visitors especially on festivities.

Notes.
Chineke m, ke bi nigwe: Igbo for My God who lives in Heaven.

Study Questions.
1. What are the figures of speech present in the poem?
2. Discuss the imagery.

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