500 Naira

 If you only knew what Five Hundred meant to me

you would weep at the thin, lost girl who arrived at your door

every Saturday noon

in Bulukuntu, to cook and clean and watch you play yor scrabble with your friends.

 

If only you could see what five hundred would buy in the future

in the end of your life, broken and old without hope

and the little lost girl who remembered your kindness

when no one else was kind.

 

You who gave me succour when no one else did

who endured me when no else would

I saw in your eyes you were tired sometimes

but you gave and gave and I can never forget.

 

I will never  forget the 500 naira you gave

every Saturday in Bulukuntu.

The years have piled up, 

like dust in the dusty Maiduguri street.

 

Memories come and go, and people die and are reborn

pain is always there, numbed by sleep 

but don't forget that flicker and kindness you showed to the girl who would never forget

the five hundred naira note

 

 

 

 

 

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