Gboko Gives Chase

In Gboko, where the dust motes dance and play, A town, a city, a people, some would say. What defines its spirit, a riddle, a quest, With a gait too familiar, putting all to the test. "Gboko!" he calls, by name, with a grin, "Seems we're acquainted, where have you been?" For here, familiar strangers, a curious clan, Know each other better than any single man. Party crashers abound, with a joyful shout, Praise singers serenade, no shadow of doubt. Fantastic storytelling, a vibrant, grand art, Where habit and culture play a blurring part. A bikeman, young, in a change-fueled fray, Declares, "Woman dey here, food dey here, wetin I dey go find for your place?" Such pride and contentment, a truth so stark, In a town once welcoming, now bearing a wary mark. In hay days of yore, a Tiv capital grand, An industrial hub, with BCC at hand. Ivo I msam – the tailed goat lap, a delight, Ishu I bee nya ke tyo – fish, so perfectly white. When women, with skill, seasoned chicken with grace, Before the slaughter, a culinary embrace. Families flocked in, from the hinterland's call, For hope and new society, standing proud and tall. Money flowed freely, like a river so wide, Vanity and funfare, with nowhere to hide. On paydays, men painted the whole town in red, Trays of spiced chicken, till late, they were fed. Imported lager flowed, in a frothy, grand spree, And megalomaniacs, grandiloquently, Would bluster and boast, with a haughty decree, "Orvesen, m tse u ke kitchen ga!" – Sir, not in your kitchen, you see! Courteous profanity, a delicate art, Where titles and greetings played a respectable part. Before venturing forth, with venom and ire, To "dress down" their target, a verbal hot fire. So Gboko gives chase, to the past and the present, An intriguing weave, both funny and pleasant. A place of contrasts, of laughter and grit, Where the spirit of the people, forever is lit.