My Homes

I wake up in an old, worn out hostel with three of its siblings close by And I remember a penthouse with similar storeyed buildings around And a bungalow of five rooms forming a quadrangle with thatch and mud houses I walk unto an old eroded road leading to a tarred one carriage way And I remember a street and a road both flooded but leading up to a jammed expressway And continuous gravel and dust roads unfolding for many miles I go to service in an uncompleted auditorium meant to have a gallery And I remember a church building expanded and decked And the small church in Ezekobe with hardly enough members to fill it I walk on hills and slopes And I remember walking in vast lowlands and watery depressions And walking on flowing hills, hanging valleys and plateaux I see old golf cars used as shuttles And I remember new Siennas used as taxis And a place unconquered by the taxi I eat ‘Okpa’ And I remember ‘Agidi’ And ‘Ligbo’ Alas, I am caught between three lands Three homes in three strange lands And I am forced to redefine home When none of my homes is really my home