Nightfall in Soweto: Poem by Oswald Mbuyiseni Mtshali

NIGHTFALL IN SOWETO
Nightfall comes like
a dreaded disease
seeping through the pores
of a healthy body
and ravaging it beyond repair

A murderer’s hand,
lurking in the shadows,
clasping the dagger,
strikes down the helpless victim.

I am the victim.

I am slaughtered
every night in the streets.
I am cornered by the fear
gnawing at my timid heart;
in my helplessness I languish.

Man has ceased to be man
Man has become beast
Man has become prey.

I am the prey;
I am the quarry to be run down
by the marauding beast
let loose by cruel nightfall
from his cage of death.

Where is my refuge?
Where am I safe?
Not in my matchbox house
Where I barricade myself against nightfall.

I tremble at his crunching footsteps,
I quake at his deafening knock at the door.
“Open up!” he barks like a rabid dog
thirsty for my blood.

Nightfall! Nightfall!
You are my mortal enemy.
But why were you ever created?
Why can’t it be daytime?
Daytime forever more?

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I Will Pronounce Your Name: Poem by Leopold Senghor

I will pronounce your name, Naett, I will declaim you, Naett!
Naett, your name is mild like cinnamon, it is the fragrance in which the lemon grove sleeps
Naett, your name is the sugared clarity of blooming coffee trees
And it resembles the savannah, that blossoms forth under the masculine ardour of the midday sun
Name of dew, fresher than shadows of tamarind,
Fresher even than the short dusk, when the heat of the day is silenced,
Naett, that is the dry tornado, the hard clap of lightning
Naett, coin of gold, shining coal, you my night, my sun!…
I am your hero, and now I have become your sorcerer, in order to pronounce your names.
Princess of Elissa, banished from Futa on the fateful day.

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Not My Business: Poem by Niyi Osundare

They picked Akanni up one morning
Beat him soft like clay
And stuffed him down the belly
Of a waiting jeep.

What business of mine is it
So long they don’t take the yam
From my savouring mouth?

They came one night
Booted the whole house awake
And dragged Danladi out,
Then off to a lengthy absence.

What business of mine is it
So long they don’t take the yam
From my savouring mouth?

Chinwe went to work one day
Only to find her job was gone:
No query, no warning, no probe –
Just one neat sack for a stainless record.

What business of mine is it
So long they don’t take the yam
From my savouring mouth?

And then one evening
As I sat down to eat my yam
A knock on the door froze my hungry hand.

The jeep was waiting on my bewildered lawn
Waiting, waiting in its usual silence.

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Mankind: Poem by Chidinma Ahika

Shall we scatter the single home we share,
So that when rain falls,
We all will enjoy her succulent sickening scold?
Shall we fold tight the gums in our hands to that beggared widow,
So that her children will be most artful
In redeeming our granaries from their excess surge?

What shall be our advantage if we poked an eye for every hurt,
So that we all will one day go blind,
Or avenge all past for posterity to crawl like millipede?
Shall we tell White he is parallel with leprosy
And scorn Black that hers spells inferior,
To lay bare our ignorance of the beauty underlying variety?

Shall we tear down the oneness of rainbow hues,
So that mankind
Would fade in the shades of apocalypse?
Shall we....?

©Chidinma Ahika

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Southern Kaduna Massacre: Presidency is Still Silent

Even before the New Year, cries had been on that the peoples of Southern Kaduna were being murdered in dozens on daily basis, just because of the ‘crime’ that they are different from Northern Kaduna (and in fact the whole of core Northern Nigeria) in belief and in tribe. The killings are still going on from flimsy reports. Curfew has been declared which deprives the indigenes of freedom of movement, yet one wonders how these bloody Fulani beasts still break the security to maim and kill innocent citizens in cold blood if they are not aided by strong forces. It is quite disgusting, seeing goring photos of people (both young and old) being slaughtered like chickens, as if they too had no right to life.

These ill-fated persons are peoples of the federal republic of Nigeria, who deserve, above all, the security guarantees of the different arms of government effective in the country: be it Local, State or Federal. But the Presidency is silence. Despite the tolls of deaths recorded on daily basis, we still have a Presidency without ears. This is the same disturbing silence the Presidency affected when the same Fulani war-men raided the country, in disguise of rearing cows, but in real sense, they were out for ethnic cleansing, shielded by the backings of influential Northern elements.

Worse still, the Presidency seems to have left the fight for a weak State Government who seems to have lost the fight even before it began. Governor El Rufai, few weeks ago, had shamefully told the press that the people perpetrating these bloody attacks were not from the country. They come from neighbouring countries: those Fulanis who were caught up in the post-election violence of 2011, are coming for revenge, to destroy citizens of a state which he claims to govern well. He didn’t end there in the press release; rather, he went on to disclose shamelessly that he gave out our hard-earned money to pacify the ‘enraged’ murderous Fulanis of another country, instead of using the huge amount of money to buy good guns for security operatives to defend the citizens he governs. What a malicious act! This very heinous act goes to prove that the Governor (because he is Fulani) prefers Fulanis in another country to the citizens of Nigeria who are not Fulanis.

The disturbing aspect of this unfolding event is still the fact that since the occurrence of this dirty killings, only a notable Fulani northerner has responded, condemning the killings. Others have been mute. Others have chosen the path of silence, the same way they chose it when the Agatu and Enugu massacres occurred. The question now is, where would all these lead the country? Would it still be better if we pretend to be one when we know we are not?

What does the massacre mean to Buhari and his northern administration? Does he feel good watching the citizens of Nigeria murdered in cold blood? Is it actually a revenge mission fronted by the Presidency itself? Why did the DSS respond so swiftly when some Fulanis were killed in Eastern Nigeria few weeks ago? Does it mean we have lives that are precious and those that are not? There are a lot of question this epileptic Federal Administration must answer. 

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Why I Hate NYSC And The Gimmick Of Its Creation

In those days - when at Secondary School - when I saw young people with milk-coloured khaki, with a light touch of green, I reverend them like gods and goddesses; secretly, I wished I would become a corp member someday. I wished I would wear the Khaki, the orange shoes with black rubber guild at the front, the white t-shirt and the face-cap with NYSC logo.

But now, as my service year draws closer by the day, I realize that all the yearnings those past years were out of ignorance of what forms the foundation of this 'hallowed' NYSC. I am glad though that I have finally been able to dig deep into the scheme and reveal governmental mismanagement it hid from our sunlit gaze for over four decades now.

According to the gimmick of its creation: ''The NYSC scheme was created in a bid to reconstruct, reconcile and rebuild the country after the Nigerian Civil war. The unfortunate antecedents in our national history gave impetus to the establishment of the National Youth Service Corps by decree No.24 of 22nd May 1973 which stated that the NYSC is being established "with a view to the proper encouragement and development of common ties among the youths of Nigeria and the promotion of national unity".

Speaking truthfully, a failed Gowon had created NYSC because of the increasing number of graduates his government could not provide employment for despite the oil boom of the early seventies. In order for his government to escape the embarrassment, NYSC was carved out to deceive the timid youth that there were jobs; but only that they should serve their 'dear' nation while placements were being prepared for them. Once done, some corps members got employed through shear luck or influence while others realized too late and still unknowingly that they had been deceived.

There is no basis for NYSC. Apart from the fact that it has failed in actualizing the unity which its creator claimed to be the reason for its creation, it is no longer interesting, as facilities and stipends paid no longer meet up with changing times. It should be scraped to stop all these sufferings all in the name of one big joke called NYSC,

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Wages: Poem by Chidinma Ahika

'Your limbs are lame' The brine from our hands are trifled, But the harvest it sickles, Taste sweet to smash your expenses.

Our sweat will be cooled, In the beauty of vainless toils, Hovers as illusions, Our brains are wired to plot.

With disciplined vigor we've burned ourselves, Like slaves we plough to weary, You kick us behind, in front, and eventually out, From the work zone We'd have loved to scheme self-retrench.

Then we ask ourselves: Why should another deprive free born From natural rights? Or are we yet in bondage, freed by delusions?

On cross over Sundays of every month, You're the first to kneel before Abba Father, Always on a spring to sow the most daring of vows, Giving to His works, neglecting your workers: The powerless He's sworn to fight for.

One day your edifice will, surely, bag a trophy, Yesterday, you came, as Most Mrs Sempe, With your face, glowing in Jergens attire. In pride you tilted your hair against the wind, To invite all eyes, even the uninterested, On the latest, professionally attached Peruvian.

The rays are over generous In reflecting the tinkering of your blink blinks; Nose, ears, fingers, wrists, and even ankles, Protracting the gaping distance, Between glitz and mundane, Employer and employed.

Is it not your luxuriance That pushes us to austerity? As we drink garri, even at recess With no shame but transient satisfaction?

The modest rags, We wear to soil for you, Owe much to the grace of 6:30am, Aswani market, bend-down-select. Thanks to the makers of Aswani: Nakedness might have been the latest Fashion of our kinds, Thank God for Aswani!

You table statistics: Melt down, decline, debts, But only our reality suffers From their ailing touch, Yours is a miracle of the reverse.

Madam, your deeds have motivated us, In burning limited fats; Going three-days straight, Directing fires to camps, Binding and losing ancestral vestiges.

Albeit, madam, the scales are falling off, It seems you're the administrator of darkness, Who believes labourers are not worthy of their wages, And would rather mismanage profit At your whims Than commit to the reward of your labourers.

Madam Sempe, tell us no more nonsense! Give us our measures, Pressed down, shaken together, Even if you'll not allow them to run over, Give us our measures Steal our sweat no more! Or are labourers no more worthy Of their wages?

© Chidinma Ahika.

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