Godwin Inyang's Blog, page 14

001I would havelovedto do thiswriting ata preciselyperfect time;to tell you aboutlifefrom letterA to Zor numberzero to nine:the randommusings ofa highlyeducatedand widelytravelled being;the one whohadseen it alland can tell youmany a marvellousthing. 002No perfecttime asthere isnothing in lifethat isquite perfect.I know itbecauseI had beenwith the popeand also theprefect;I had

Itwas still early in the day and as the rain was not that heavy, those in thefarms still clung to their machetes and hoes to work the land. Only those whoworked close to the path saw Mr Ransom and asked him what the problem was thathe should crawl home and very early too and like a slug. He would force himselfto peep (which was scary to his listeners to see the vocal Mr Ransom couldsuddenly

 CHAPTER 5PEREMPE ONCE ON THAT GROTTY LANE behind the motor park on avisit to his brother had been robbed. On a second visit, he had prayed heshould meet the hoodlums again. The rest of the story reached the village viahis brother who narrated it to old friends and close relations. And as it issaid, no fare is paid for news (especially rumour), the narrative went free ofcharge from mouths

In all aspects of life, you’dfind thorns and flowers:Sleazy shacks beside glitteringcity towers;Massive talents emerging fromslimy slum gutters;Gilded jails for some starry-eyedgold diggers. Thorns and flowers among somelovely sons and daughters;Thorns and flowers among greatmothers and fathers;Thorns and flowers in the clockchiming the hours;Thorns and flowers as birds

The
entire school knew them as ‘the triplets’ for their flashy association.
Children of struggling parents, they acted like their fathers owned half of the
town. Not only did they dress well but they also threw up big parties now and
then. For the Independence Day celebration which was a few days away, they were
planning to hire a cab that would take them round to sights in two states’
capitals

001

Harmattan on our village leaves its thick cover:

Siblings cling to siblings, husbands to their wives

But a robber of a thought my sleep seems to pilfer –

An emotion recently gives me the gybes.

 

Where did love go that the media endlessly

Would moan to us over it? Earnestly,

In market squares and streets it’s stridently

Said love has gone into hiding so hopelessly

 

I’ve