These Many Rivers
Lagos envelopes me like a fog.
There are no jobs here. No vacancies.
Never mind the adverts littering our dailies.
My CVs lie fallow on mahogany desks.
There’s no respite for the poor.
None. None at all.
I have no ‘uncles’ to endorse my application.
No godfathers to influence my employment.
No senators. No generals.
No one. No one at all.
But I’ll survive.
In this city of excellent despair,
I’ll survive.
Ayilara, street of the accursed.
In your bosom I’ve found solace.
In your breath I’ve found succour.
Connections play no tricks at your backyard.
Only guts.
Sheer guts.
Slowly the innocent kitten becomes a tiger.
Slowly the indolent worm becomes a viper.
Yesterday, my father cried:
“This is my beloved daughter in whom I am well pleased.”
This day, this hour.
Shall I say I have been a sculptor,
moulding passion and fury?
Shall I say I have been a tailor,
patching anger and desires?
Shall I simply say I have been a harlot?
The Honourable
Tonight,
I leave for the House.
I leave to dwell among wolves and sheep.
O Benevolent One, Patriarch of the Tribe,
I pray for courage.
Courage
To resist bribes concealed in cellophane bags.
Courage
To resist the advances of Assembly sluts.
May I not forget the Tribe.
May I not forsake the Tribe.
O Benevolent One, Patriarch of the Tribe,
I pray for power.
Power
To survive the assassin’s bullets.
Power
To survive the heat of impeachment.
O Benevolent One, Patriarch of the Tribe,
I am on my knees.
I have been on my knees.
I, the honourable. |