Son of the Soil

Prince Akachi-c010dfd8

“Hey! You there. What are you—”
“Officer calm down.” Femi threw sand up.

I was born not far from here,
Rolled bike-tire like no man’s business,
Trekked bear-foot the hardest hot ground,
Even every scar I have came because of this street.

I took my baby steps not far from here,
Punched the nose of a padi because he did give me his puff-puff.
Told mama, I didn’t steal the meat when my lips is covered in oil.
Came home with lashes, my teachers called discipline.

I said my first word not far from here,
Lost my first soccer, in that dusty field,
Shaye for ma guys inside that buka,
Dance to the tone of my mother’s blessed slaps.

I tasted my first salty meal around that corner,
Joined the high school’s music cadet,
Choreographed at the end of the year party,
Not sure if I will receive an academic price.

I took my first breath intake, in that room,
Ask a friend his homework to dub,
Getting my white uniform brown in break time,
Even when I know, bleach was a commodity of scarce identity.

I drank my first tap water, amongst that queue,
Joined a street fight over who scored the goal,
Returning home with scarred face of unnecessary tussle,
Only for my parents to batter me in addition to their comfort.

I collected my first gift one morning here,
Sent to that hospital when the employee was no more than three,
Missed a series of classes to go play games,
Then return, sneaking passed ma principal entering the trap of the headmaster.

I saw my first love, behind that house,
Starved for being too stubborn,
Kicked in the belly for insulting a senior,
Ran like crazy for mocking a dog.

I slept on the mat one night at this area,
Staring at the stars, to prove a point,
Not bothered by the whispers that the amebo has to say,
Just cruising ma fancie.

“You see, I am a Son of the Soil”

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