Remembering Yesteryears In Nigeria
Remembering Yesteryears In Nigeria
Poem 1: The Soil and the Sprout
(An ode to the Igbo land,
to Odinani, Odibe-ndi and Omnani Ndi Igbo)
Two grand Rivers meet in an intimate ocean romance
leaving the scene as one River, only to part several onto ocean
The Rivers; Niger and Benue the great waterway towards the globe
Where Igbos, Igalas, Brions some Hausa and Yoruba team
trade at the food basket at confluence town lokojas
Teams from neiboring cities come through he Great two Rivers
The Great River splits the red earth into two,
But the blood of the lineage runs ancient and true.
Before the new cross, there was Ala the ground,
And the worship of Chukwu where spirits are found.
We bury the seed-yam deep under the moistened clay,
And wait for the rains to wash hamathan away.
Then Iri Ji calls, and the masquerades rise,
With dust on their ankles and fire in their eyes.
The drums beat the rhythm of Surugede, for harvest and home:
No king owns this soil, and no king owns the throne.
Poem 2: The Republic of the Free
(Reflecting the fiercely democratic,
kingless nature of pre-colonial Igbo society)
“Njikoka,” they whisper—the strength to align,
Igwebuike the strengh of the teamhood
Yet no crown shall sit on your brother or mine.
“Igbo enweghi eze,” the old proverb rings,
A valley of equals, a nation of kings.
The elders assemble beneath the great shade,
Where laws are debated and judgements are made.
In thhe strict guidance of Ofo and oversight of Ogu
No palace of stone, no tyrannical decree,
Just the voice of the village, unbending and free.
For the title is earned by the sweat of the hand,
And the titles we carry belong to the land.
This is Ihie oha kara, Ihie di oha mma
Wealth accumulation,
(A standing ovation tribute to the IAS;
Igbo Apprenticeship System and entrepreneurial resilience)
From the ash of a war where the hunger ran deep,
Came a promise the sons of the sunrise would keep.
With a single suitcase and a ten-shilling note,
They stepped into cities to swim or to float.
Seven long years sweeping floors in the market,
Learning the trade, every price, every pocket.
The master watches, the boy bides his time,
Till the day of settlement—the moment to climb.
Now the boy is a master, the cycle starts new,
What was broken by iron, by commerce grew.
The Echo of Biafra
(A poignant look at the trauma (PTSD)
and survival of the Nigerian Civil War)
The borders were drawn by a pen not our own,
And the seeds of a bitter division were sown.
A flag in the East, a bright rising sun,
A dream of a country before it begun.
Then the sky turned to lead and the blockades came down,
And silence grew thick over village and town.
The hunger was weapon, the losses were vast,
A generation of ghosts that was tethered to the past.
Yet the sun didn't set when the banner was furled,
No Marshall law or support, no helping hand
No aids or borrowing to the comities
But we rebuilt bridges, Markets incommodity halls
For the heart of the Biafran outlived the whole world.
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