Travel

Seven months pregnant, off a long-haul flight, 

mourning  my father, invitro my child was sick, with a hole in his heart;

I arrive at the hotel in Dublin, the Polish receptionist says I can't stay

even with a booking

with my Mastercard

with my cash,

I can only stay the night,

Penang is hot, with friendly faces

here I wear my skin in comfort

I don't stick out like a stain,

Dubai is full of shops, 

no one cares, I shop till I drop,

with my first, in vitro,

my second (in vitro)

my third at six months,

I think we got Covid, because we coughed and coughed,

Turkiye like the Muslim states welcomed me, 

I ate roasted chestnuts and got lost in the Grand Bazaar,

with shops that sold the same things

with shopkeepers who looked like Arab princes

and shop boys who knew all the tricks

Ghana was hot and sane

till they heard you speak, 

their eyes narrow

because you are a Nigerian,

Saw the Elimina Beach and rubber plantation

where the trees swayed like slender dancers in nature's mysterious song

Abidjan had the worse guards, who were callous and wild

and robbed you blind

Maradi was hot and poor,

the lights flicker in perputally low

Togo with its sand beaches

and everyone on motor-bikes

easy going and clean

Port Harcourt  was non-chalant and cold

Illorin, the home of aggressive beggars and slothful men

who wore their white jalabiyas and strutted on the streets, 

while the women worked and worked

Lagos is a hustle, every one a thief,

you keep your bags close and mouth shut

Home is peace.