I

Otakinima stood akimbo gazing at the canoes
The canoes were dwarfed by the giant ships
The giant ships were in green and white colors
Green and white colors of his motherland
The motherland of his heart and soul
The heart and soul of his spirit
The spirit of his nationhood.

The Whiteman said they are our ships
But we did not make them.
The Whiteman said they made them for us
But we did not ask for them
The Whiteman likes to tell his white lies
But white lies are like white maggots
White maggots of black flies
Black flies of our mangrove swamps
Black Papa flies dancing around our hurricane lamps.

Tamunomuno said the Whiteman did not lie to us.
That those giant green and white canoes made of iron
Were made for us with our money.
But when did we give the Whiteman money?
I do not remember ever giving the Whiteman even one kobo.
Tamunomumo said the Whiteman bought them from our black liquid
The Whiteman burns our black liquid into white smoke
Then the Whiteman collects the white smoke in giant bowls and pipes of iron and zinc.
The giant bowls and pipes I saw in Bonny and Brass
The Whiteman pours the white smoke into the giant iron canoes
The giant iron canoes carry the white smoke to the white world.
The white world beyond our shores
Where the Whiteman uses the white smoke to do many other things.
Tamunomuno has been to the white world
He said he saw the wonders of the white world.
Hmm.
Tamunomuno even speaks and thinks like the Whiteman.
Tamunomuno has inhaled too much white smoke.
But I am different from Tamunomuno.
I do not inhale white smoke.
I only sniff my brown snuff
I smoke my pipe and I drink my Ogogoro.

I think the Whiteman is a strange man
But a very strong strange man
The Whiteman builds big houses
Big houses reaching to the clouds
Big houses made with bricks and iron rods.
Not like our own small houses of straw, sticks and mud.
I fear that the Whiteman is one of the fallen angels
The one the Reverend Father said fell from heaven
When God drove Satan away with his devils
They fell down to earth even before our forefathers were born.
This is why I do not trust the Whiteman.
But Tamunomuno said the Reverend Father is also a Whiteman.
Yes, but the Reverend Father is a different Whiteman.
The Reverend Father was sent by God to warn us of the Whiteman.
Yes, they look like twins, both they do not act the same way. 
I do not trust the Whiteman at all.
They smile funny smiles with the corners of their mouths.
Even when they laugh with us, their laughter is funny laughter
They are very cunning creatures.
But I like their White woman.
The White woman is not as cunning as the Whiteman.
The White woman laughs from her heart
But the Whiteman laughs from his long throat.

If the Whiteman can build giant canoes made of iron
If the Whiteman can use his brains and hands to do amazing things
Who says Otakinima cannot build his own wonders?
The same hands we use in building small wooden canoes
We can use them to build giant canoes made of iron.
The Whiteman cannot bluff us again.


II

Galadima was crouching in the grass
He was counting his herd
He looked at the cattle and shook his head.
He left Katangora with one thousand of them
But he was now seeing only three hundred.
Most of them fell ill and died before he got here.
There was not enough grass and not enough water.
He fled from his land as the land turned into sand dunes
The sandiness drove many farmers and cattle rearers to emptiness.
The emptiness drove many of them to madness
And the madness left many of them in sadness.

He looked farther and he gasped!
He saw pyramids upon pyramids
Pyramids kissing the blue skies!
He saw many people carrying big brown bags on their heads
They were sweating but they were smiling.
He saw many of them chewing groundnuts.
He saw many trucks full of brown bags.
They must be brown bags of groundnuts.
He jumped to his feet and threw away his long walking stick
He waved his cattle hungry cattle aside and ran to the pyramids.
But as he got to the site of the pyramids, they were gone!
No pyramids, no sweating and smiling labourers chewing groundnuts
And no tucks full of brown bags.
They have all suddenly disappeared!
He fell down to his crooked knees.
Tears trickled down his sunken cheeks
He had only seen a mirage.
But as his tears dropped to the sandy earth at his bare feet
He saw seedlings he could tell what they were.
They were groundnut seedlings growing under his feet.
Galadima clutched the seedlings and kissed them.

I have seen a vision from heaven
Allah is showing me what I had and I should have seen
But ignorance has robbed me of wisdom
But in my despair, I have found hope
The hope has not come to me from my wanderings
The hope has come to me from under my feet.
I have found the truth from the roots of the earth.
I do not need to wander again in search of greener pastures
I can grow the greener pastures here on my land.
I can build the pyramids of groundnuts.
My father once told me that,
For one acorn sown
The oak has grown.
 

III

Ojibia and Ekwue were running here and there with palm fronds
Sho! Sho! Sho!
They shouted at the swarm of locusts on their farmland
But the flying creatures with ugly heads refused to leave
More and more swarms descended on their crops.
The locusts spared no crop in sight.
Ojibia and Ekwue fled in fear of being swarmed by the pests

The villagers thronged the palace of the Gbong Gwon Jos.
It was a mammoth crowd of angry and hungry farmers of all ages.
The men and women and children were grumbling and murmuring
They sounded like hornets in their nest.
Your Highness, there will be no feast where there is no harvest
The locusts have eaten all our crops.
We are already starving and we must go and look for food.
We heard that the locusts have not reached the valley.
So, let us go and beg the people in the valley for food.
The Gbong Gwon Jos shook his head.
Who told you that there will be no feast?
Who told you that there will be no harvest?
He clapped his hands and his palace attendants went inside his chambers.
He clapped his hands again and they came out with large bowls of food.
They placed them before the people.
Here is food and we still have more indoors.
Eat as much as you can.
The people were excited to see many large bowls of food.
They tasted it and it was delicious.
They were already feasting before asking the Gbong Gwon Jos:
Your Highness, where, when and how did you get the food?
He smiled and said:
You are eating the locusts eating our crops.
This is the solution.
We should eat the locusts eating our crops.
We shall have a bumper harvest this year.
A harvest of locusts.
The people rejoiced at the news.
They rushed back to their farms and used nets to catch all the locusts they found.
They had feasts of roasted locusts that tasted like smoked fish.
They thanked God for giving them a wise Gbong Gwon Jos who will not let his people starve.

IV

Kolawole saw the three scrawny looking young men
They were in rags and accosting the cars held-up on the Eko Bridge
One of them looked familiar.
Could that be Fatayi?
As they got closer to his Honda Prelude, something snapped within him.
Fatayi!
The skinniest of them stopped in his tracks and gaped at him.
Omokolawole?
Yes, Fatayi!
Am I dreaming?
No Fatayi!
Kola, Olodo Rupo of Form Four?
Yes, Fatayi!
You are driving this new Honda Prelude, latest model?
Yes, Fatayi!
Or you are a driver?
No, Fatayi. I am not a driver.
Then, how come you are driving this chassis Honda Prelude?
Fatayi, I thank God oh! I am now a manager in First Bank.
You? Olodo Rupo of Form Four is now a bank manager?
Fatayi’s mouth was wide open with some saliva dripping from his mouth.
Yes, Fatayi, I, that you all made fun of as the class dullard did not give up.
What happened Kolawole?
Commonsense changed my life. I refused to drop out of school.
There is not future for hopeless dropouts.
So, I swore to continue reading my books until I passed all the exams.
From Fiditi Grammar School, I struggled all the way into the University.
I continued to read my books until my books became my best companions.
So, I made it and got my degree and later got work at the First Bank.
Fatayi and his gang sighed.
They nudged Fatayi to dismiss Kolawole and continue with them.
Fatayi shook his head.
I am not following you again.
I do not want to waste my life on the street.
I was not born as an Area Boy and I do not want to die as an Area Boy.
If Olodo Rupo of Form Four can still make it and become a bank manager
Then, I can make it.
Bye bye to Jatijati and Bye bye to Radarada.
He waved them off and stuck with Kolawole.
Fatayi, I will help you as long as you are ready to make it.
Kolawole, if you can make it, then I can make it.
As they were bonding, they saw the fishermen in the lagoon.
They saw the ships at the wharf.
They saw the traders on their way to the market.
Then Kolawole pointed at a cripple selling stationery from his wheel chair.
Fatayi grinned and pointed at an old woman selling made in Nigeria Ankara wax prints.
Business is booming in Lagos.
Only lazy fools prefer to be Area Boys when their mates are either traders or office workers.
Fatayi, we have a lot to talk about. I need a business partner.
Kolawole looked at Fatayi and nodded in agreement.   


V

As he was thrusting in and out of her, she was not responding
He thought he was not doing it well.
He started thrusting harder and faster with gritted teeth
He was grunting and panting
She was chewing Dandy Mint Gum as she was opening and closing her legs.
He was the eleventh man she had accepted to fork since daybreak.
It was 4 pm and she wanted to rest and sleep before the night shift.
The man paid for two hours and five more seconds, she would push him away.
The man had his tenth quick ejaculation and she pushed him away.
The slimy condom slipped out of her and she quickly took it and threw it into the waste basket.
As the man was leaving, an attendant called her nickname.
Omo Empire! Omo Empire! Omo Empire!
Na wetin I do whey you dey shout ma name like that?
Omo Empire, ya mama wan see you oh!
For where? My mama dey Uromi village for Bendel.
I say ya mama dey look for you, you dey misyarn!
Omo Empire swore the attendant was joking.
You never fork finish since moring?
Na ya business?
You no dey tire? You wan fork and quench?
You nko? You no go retire?
You no go marry? Na Ashewo you go do quench?
Abegi, just leaf me oh! I no get ya time.
Toto dey sour oh! You better retire now whey ya toto still dey grip prick.
Leaf ma toto alone oh! Abi I never gi you fork? Na you go marry me?
Omo Empire, I just dey gi you ma own advice oh. Toto dey sour oh.
Okay Johnbull, you do well. Thank you oh.
Well sha, ya mama dey wait for you for bar.
The last sentence shook Omo Empire!
Her mother was really here to see her?
Who gave her address?
How did she find her?
As she went to the bar, she gasped at the sight of her mother.
Angelina, ma daughter?
She was suddenly dumb and numb.
Angelina? Na you dey bear Omo Empire now?
Na Ashewo you kon do for Lagos?
Na this be the runs you lie say you dey do for Lagos?
Na fork you come fork for Lagos!
Na so you wan disgrace me, ehen Angelina?
You be bastard pikin?
Which kin life be this?
All ya mates don graduate finis for Unifercity
But you na to come fork all the men whey dey Lagos?
Ahah! Angelina, don killy me oh!
Suddenly, the mother slumped before her very eyes.
Mama! Mama! Mama!
She rushed to hold her mother.
I beg Johnbull, bring water quick-quick!
Johnbull hurriedly fetched water in a small plastic bucket.
Omo Empire grabbed it and poured the water on her mother.
Her mother took hours to regain consciousness.
She was admitted in a nearby hospital.
The doctor said she had a massive heart attack.
Omo Empire was still with the doctor when a nurse tapped her right shoulder.
Angie?
Omo Empire turned to look at her.
She knew the face.
Ngozi?
Yes, Angie.
You be nurse now?
Yes.
Ngozi was with her in the brothel for many years.
How come now?
Angie, no condition is permanent. I wanted a better life.
Omo Empire sighed and the tears flowed copiously.
Angie, everyone deserves a better life.
Omo Empire nodded sadly.
Angie, look after your mother. Do not break her heart.
Ngozi, God go help me. I no go back to Empire again.
Do not worry Angie, I will help you.


By Ekenyerengozi Michael Chima
August 9, 2008.
Nigeria LNG RA 1,
Bonny Island, Rivers State.

patriotic piece with good sense of morals. . .

pardon my naivety but the bonny i know is in Rivers state

Interesting! Kinda straddles the fence between prose and poetry, doesn't it?

SMC:

Interesting! Kinda straddles the fence between prose and poetry, doesn't it?

SMC,
Thanks for reading.
You are right on the mixture of prose and poetry.
I am trying to use the style to make it more dramatic and let readers simply follow the flow of the monolgue and dialogue.

truth2:

patriotic piece with good sense of morals. . .

pardon my naivety but the bonny i know is in Rivers state

You are right, it is here in Rivers state.
I must be thinking of Lagos.
Thanks for the correction.

BEAUTIFUL!!!

Has a nice pulse to it, I agree it does straddle the line between prose and poetry. Anything remotely close to poetry is brilliant to me, I am so not poetically inclined, I'm in awe of those who are.

nice read

Thanks for reading.

I believe there is a lot of room for improvement.

I want to add more to the first part on the Niger Delta.

Orikinla:

I believe there is a lot of room for improvement.

I concur. It does need good tweaking.

Oriks, I believe that if you remove the gratuitous sexually explicit stuff in there and polish it up a bit, the guys at Wasafiri, Agni or the Virginia Review might be interested in publishing it. Alternately, Nam Le at the Harvard Review might also be interested (though this is more poetry than prose, so that means at HR it should be Major Jackson and not Nam), but like I said, you'd need to work on it further.

Regards,

SMC

SMC,
Thanks.

I will not touch that Omo Empire part, because that is how they really speak and worse and to refine the language will destroy their orignal jargons.
I have made several visits there at Moshalasi near Mushin in Lagos when my elder sister was one of the female dancers of the late Fela Anikulapo-Kuti.
I have derived so much pleasure sitting with these Omo Empire commercial sex workers to hear them speak their raw pidgin English.
I sold condoms to these people in Yaba in the early 1990s in our HIV/AIDS Control and Prevention programs.
There is no finese.
They have unclean lips.

They are very explicit.
We should record it for posterity.

Don't get me wrong, I did not say refine the language. I am aware that the language gets even crasser than that. I am saying that in my opinion, there are bits which can be expunged without doing material damage to the overall effect of the work. While striving for literary effect, use the language to pack a punch a couple of times, but going on and on takes it to the level of bad taste. [Obviously, this is just my own opinion. It is your work, so if you do not agree with me, totally ignore what I say. There is no obligation to take this on board in anyway]. Like I said, it reads as an interesting piece.

SMC,
Thanks.

I do agree with your critical analysis.

Tamunomuno came to Namata today.
Tamunomuno came with his White boss.
The White boss shook my right hand and said:
Otakinima , I have heard so much about you.
He smiled his funny cunny man smile and I nodded.
We gave him one of our bamboo stools to sit on.
He looked at it again and again before he sat down on it.
White boss, sit down. The stool will not bite your white yansh!
The White boss thought there were bugs in our stools
Or the White boss did not want to sit on the stool our black yansh touched?
I told one of my beautiful daughters to give the White boss water.
I saw his big white eyes following her as she went to our well for the water.
I knew the White boss would be tempted by my daughter's beauty.
The Whitemen love our daughters.
Ene came to church last Sunday with her white child.
The church gossips whispered that the father was her White boss.
I want my daughter to have a white child.
A white child brings great white fortune from the Whiteman.
But when my daughter gave the White boss the water, he gasped!
Is this water! He exclaimed speaking from his long eagle nose.
Yes, I replied nodding my head like the Agama lizard.
It is brown?
Yes. Our water is brown.
He was afraid to drink it.
Is this the water you drink?
Yes. We have been drinking it.
Why?
Because, there is no other water to drink.
What made your water brown?
I laughed at his question.
White boss asked a childish and foolish question.
You made our water brown!
Yes. Your oil wells made our water brown.
When you came to look for oil, you spilled the oil in our wells and rivers.
Your oil spills spoilt our wells, ponds, streams and rivers.
Your oil spills made our water brown.
Your oil spills killed our fish.
Your oil spills destroyed our land.
The White boss looked at Tamunomuno.
Tamunomuno nodded and the White boss sighed.
The White boss sighed what my forefathers called the sigh of wisdom.
The Whiteman destroyed our land.
He knew I spoke the truth.
The White boss looked at my daughter again.
I knew what he was thinking as he was looking at her.
That my beautiful daughter was also drinking the brown water.
How could something so beautiful survive in such a place as this?
Tamuno makes all things possible, even where the Whiteman has failed.
The White boss sighed again.
I collected the cup of water from my daughter, I thanked Tamuno and I drank it.
Our[i] Tamuno [/i] is greater than the Whiteman.

I like this,. . . . .I like it a lot. . . . . .

@ Orinkila: I like the poem, the first part in particular. Has the same style as Daniel Defoe's Africa, my Africa. Did you write it? I thought you were yoruba.

In the last installment you replaced "black liquid" with "oil"; I kinda prefer using black liquid - it sounds more like something Otakinima would say.

@SMC: Hi.

kay9: @ Orinkila: I like the poem, the first part in particular. Has the same style as Daniel Defoe's Africa, my Africa. Did you write it? I thought you were yoruba.

In the last installment you replaced "black liquid" with "oil"; I kinda prefer using black liquid - it sounds more like something Otakinima would say.

@SMC: Hi.

Bro Orikinla has migrated and navigated away from this location to more important forums.
But this poem and others never published before are included in his newest book The Prophet Lied is distributed by Amazon.
http://www.amazon.com/Prophet-Lied-Michael-Chima-Ekenyerengozi/dp/1481088351/ref=sr_1_cc_1?s=aps&ie=UTF8&qid=1355230168&sr=1-1-catcorr&keywords=The+Prophet+Lied
Plus
Diary of the Memory Keeper [Kindle Edition]
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00AJTFQRE?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creativeASIN=B00AJTFQRE&linkCode=xm2&tag=kissrose-20

Some people are born with the creative golden spoon.

Orikinla, you are one of them.

(Sigh) such a gift with words. You and Masterpiecer are one of a rare breed. (sigh)

Well done brother.

Efemena_xy: Some people are born with the creative golden spoon.

Orikinla, you are one of them.

(Sigh) such a gift with words. You and Masterpiecer are one of a rare breed. (sigh)

Well done brother.

If you are not yet published, I will like to publish you.

Nigerian writers are under published and unappreciated.

Let us publish all our writings so that we shall overwhelm our people with our words until they cannot hide, ignore or escape from them.