Written by: awoh kingsley awoh


(for Emmanuel)

It was Saturday morning,
He went out to play
On that dusty patch in Ebutte Meta
And we never saw him again
We looked everywhere
Even in the sewers and roadside drains
We never saw him again
Thirteen weeks later
He looked like a confused ghost,
He still had the dark birthmark
On his left breast
That one that look like a napple leaves,
His hair and finger nails had grown longer
All else was intact except for his navel
An arrogant bullets hole was in its place

Then they told us many things
They us members of his gang
Men who looked wicked even in the death
They told us he killed a policeman with Kalashnikov
They showed the gun.

But there were few things they forget to tell us
There were a very few things they forget to do 
They didn’t tell us he had a football under his arm
They forget to shoot all the passers by
Who saw the wayward slug stray to him from? 
A drunken patrolman’s gun
They forget the weight of the a Kalashnikov
They forget the size of his hand
Emmanuel was thirteen years old

He now lies in the garden
Behind our house,
A little flower over his grave
Where no police bullet will touch him again.

Bode Asiyanbi