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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required /There she stood tall, face down. Her tall frame obvious despite her bowed head. Tied and beaten like a goat being led to the abattoir. As she sobbed, I felt the strain in her voice. Her cries were not the only ones that rang through my head; but also the shrill sobs of the infant child. Naked, save for the piece of clothe that strapped him to her back. Their cries filled my heart with emotions I didn't know I possessed. Tufia! Tufiakwa! A bent little old woman with just four tobacco-stained teeth shouted. I had only arrived the previous night with barely 2 hours of sleep. I rob my sleepy eyes in confusion. “What's her crime?” I ask. “What is her crime?” I ask again, this time louder with irritation and anger over the silence that greeted my first question. She looks at me longingly with pleas in her lovely deep eyes, just as another lash hit hard across her back. A look like I should do something, say something. I look back quizzically. I need a clue, a guide, an insight into what is going on. But she only looks away in despair, as tears roll down her cheeks; She has the type of cheeks that reminded me of red succulent tomatoes. I ran forward to help. Strong and coerce hands from nowhere restrain me. The Old woman with brown teeth, points at the little creature. Then I take a good look at him. But he is just a baby, so tiny, so innocent. Tiny little fingers stretched forward, with gold-colored hair I would love to have. Cute gray eyes; so crystal-like, so clear. “How can this beauty be a "tufikawa"?” I ask no one in particular. Then it dawns on me: he isn't just a baby, he is an ALBINO. Oh! The woes of an archaic tradition, my motherland. Composed by Anita Odure Odeh Note: This poem is purely fictional, none of it ever happened./
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