NAIJA BLOG

 A  wonderful people, a wonderful breed tall and strong like the tall iroko tree Igbos, the choice slaves, like the Mandinka tribe a testment of perfection of mind and matter  Igbos the excellent, who have fought and won as slaves and masters fought and won as servants and rulers you have been blessed by the goddess of fortunes but tainted by the demon of tragedy  Your blood is found in Virginia, named Igbo Land Your blood breaks the barrier of  generations Paul Robeson, T.D Jakes, Tyler the Creator, Blair Underwood, Jidenna testify of your greatness 

 Where are those people I left in the past have they become memories, existing only in the realm of thought, abstract figures are full of life, blood and guile living The house in Ikeja, the policemen who guarded it the tilers in Lagos The widow in Port Harcourt The waitresses  in Ghana The taxi man who took me to the park the bike men in Seme the policemen in Togo The border guards in Abijan the driver in Ireland the shopman in Dubai the kind shop guy in Malaysia our paths crossed once in eternity, i remain a hallucination,  you remain etched in my thoughts  immortalised by my words 

 There was a little girl who stayed hidden behind the Pegout tyres Hidden behind our judgmental stares we whispered and muttered  our eyes round in awe  and sought to see the apparition  that was a pregnant girl Oh little girl, how bitter were the tears you shed  beneath the unhappy rooms in a home full of shame and recriminations  how you tried to hide your being  from our prying judgemental eyes Oh little sad girl, I hope Fortune gave you the comfort denied you once

 Short, stocky Kebbi You who trawl the car wash stands and endeared  yourself to us Kebbi, you saw me through so many troubling times, the parker of my car your family  always on your mind Kebbi you who journey the roads to my house and i treated you moodswingly I was always going through a lot Kebbi to hear you died horrendously tied like a hog and smashed like a roach, Oh Kebbi, I forgot you too soon Forgive me 

 Only few know the depth of power a writer holds through the writer's words, names are revived Lives long gone and forgotten are resurrected  Oh Zora, you tell me of your Howard crush, who sat through your illness of the upper-class lady who married a geologist of the defeat of your father and the shrew who was your stepmother  Shaw, you show me a world of Nicholas and Rainas Dante, you teach me about Di Rimmi, Vigne and Monte Feltro Wiwa, you talk to me about the Magistrate, arbitar of injustice Oh Writer, you telepathic one  who speak to our thoughts and create our visons who immortalizes men and myth  and are divinely blessed to sustain immortality 

 I mHostile eyesust walk tommorow to the place of judgment and my execution words that I phrase have been judged before I speak Eyes that are hostile await my presence I must lay my case to eyes that have judged and tongues that have wagged and have proven me guilty before I speak I must wak these steps to prove my life to live and not not take the death blows handed in my stride