Clear scribbles and lines on the sand
Sticks and Coca-Cola bottle caps strewn about
Kids running about, slippers in hand
With no hiding place from Akwaya the neighborhood dog
One boy’s bicycle for everyone’s riding
One parent at home to chaperone us all
Amidst the chattering, clanking and screaming
Low cost was one lively dwelling
Alternating sounds from the mortar and pestle
Eliciting chants of joy for lunch being readied
Peppered fillets of Titus fish
Standing in for a plate of soup
We sought to hear the broken Tiv of pariahs
A fun delight always to our puckish ears
A tuber of yam in exchange for butter fat
Stewed meat in exchange for the milkmaid’s fura de nono
Uncle Uche’s presence never out of place
Some relatives needed no blood connection
Light skinned but tanned by the hustle
Gone now but never forgotten
Teachers and doctors then golden
Riding and driving then always a delight
Schools and hospitals now olden
potholes and ditches now make your body go light
The tall hills of Mkar remain
Its cold currents reaching mere mortals
Roaming cows and friendly foreigners
replaced with high fences and policed gates
Though our sand be carved and chipped and sold
The motherland echoes the names of its own
Sing of Gboko’s prowess in no man’s land
Tell of Botue’s tales to the ones not yet born
The Lions of BBC growl no more
the pride engraved deep in our bones
Home or away laughters from Adekaa linger
The milkmaids are gone, the best still remain
