By Kanute Tangwa aka K(C)anute Tangwa
Ngaiwir free indeed:
– but the freedom he never bargained for/
– where amba, once a kind of solution/
– now the jigga of our times?
– now the whitlow of our times?
unlike mama’s jigga:
– itchy and easy to take out with precision needle pricks/
inflaming, mestatasizing amba jigga:
– dents mama’s needle!
– leaving scars of varying degrees!
– trauma triggering scars
searing through skin, hearts and minds!
and the whitlow of our times?
withering the eleven fingers of an SC leprous hand:
while we stand aside and look/
while we stand aside and stoke/
while we stand aside and snare;
as wanton emissaries/
from both aisles/
springing wanton thoughts/
spewing wanton folies as wanton truths:
draped in jim jones togas/
decked in ayatollah appliqué/
dolled up in robes and wigs/
spruced in toghu and drench suits/
and we stand aside and look:
– for we say the casualties are far removed
– for we say ngarbuh is less a posterboy
– for we say kumba was an accident
– for we say gidado is another passing whim
– for we wallow in the lies within fishang
ya rese don shake skin/
Phew!
then the matchete went up and down/
slapping his soles with malevolent frenzy:
– spilling blood and choping some of his toes.
we hear:
it is the prize for freedom/
we hear:
it is the prize for total liberation/
we hear:
it is the prize for independence/
we hear:
it is the prize to reach gbea.