The Native

/POEMS  

The Native 

Alerler nor tor! Vha der ekor!!

Hawkers cried at morn, 

Selling corn wine, kai-kai, and palm wine 

Under trees at noon 

In the even, meat, ingredients 

And mushrooms 

The routes of trade the native plied.

Stood tall

Among the kuku-ruku hills 

As a Colossus, war-like tribes-men

The native of Etsakor who cut his teeth 

In the culture of his nativity 

Strong, stout, ebony and cheerful 

A silhouette against even glows.

Contoured, frazzled faces

Told a story hard

Of women who wove ogbegbe, agbikhia

Which khaki and calico 

Sewn they the utebe, order 

And the oryana attires 

The routes of trade the native plied.

A carved tooth-gap

And facial marks 

For identity, aesthetics or commemoration 

Another vocation for the farmer 

Whose sheathed cutlass and hoe

Over one shoulder hung in erbuma sack 

As a gun on another hung.

The routes of trade the native plied 

A celebrity of success 

Smiling deep 

Into a generous heart 

Revealing a gleam of virtue 

And the unmistakable stains of kola nuts

Planted in the traditions of Edo People.

Today, somewhat changed and brainwashed 

Uncomfortable on hats, neckties or coats 

They are dressed 

Stammering in foreign languages 

In strange names they are addressed 

Stumbling over Crosses and Crescents

From foreign lands.

/The Native