Rise above these dark momentsRise above these harsh currentsRise above these insults that hurtRise above the confusing twistsThe humanizing treatsAnd temporary defeats Survive this testYou were designed to outlastAnd outlive this floodBe an inspiration to the rest Refuse to stay downWield these stormsInto reservoirs of strengthWeave this lossInto beautiful songs

There are days nothing spectacular happen in our lives. Just routines. And yet one day we look back, and miss those ordinary times. Like I am looking back right now and seeing myself beside a tomato farm right behind our school wall. Almost everyday, while teaching in a classroom on the last floor, I stole glances at the workers on the farm below.

Image credits: Nappy From a distance, it is easy to assume they are partial. But when you get a chance to walk in their shoes, and perhaps put on their clothes, you understand why they sometimes complain of heat when the weather appears cold. When I was in basic school, I noticed how our class teacher gave what looked like preferential treatment to certain students in our class.

Things are different here. I have left the city for a small town, what else could I expect? It takes time to make new friends, and if you're a student in a higher level of education, it's not easy finding someone on the same mental wavelength. There is this question of being "humble" and mingling with "ordinary people". True, and I have had plenty of fun interacting with people I meet randomly on the streets or in the neighborhood.

Politicians are good at studying the mood of the citizenry to craft messages that resonate with the masses. In Africa for instance, many people blame their political leaders for being puppets of western governments. A true leader of the people is one who is bent on industrializing the country, thus creating jobs, alleviating poverty, reducing inflation and cost of living... Because Africa is known to have lots of resources mined by foreign companies with no major economic benefits to the locals in the area.

The lone bird is done singing,and the migratory season is here.It has joined its clanto sail across the sky,to a new land. We cannot help but keep lookingwhere it once stood, singing.The lone bird is no more,only echoes of its voice. Like nicknamesof old high school friendsheld together in indelible inkagainst fading classroom walls,your name and legacyare anchored in our hearts and memoriesagainst the corrosive force of time

Image by Nikolai Ulltang Already, they were suspicious. So, my going there was a gamble. Part of my reason for going there was to gain their trust. That was why when they offered me a meal, I did not hesitate to thank them and head towards the dinning table. They had eaten already, so I was the only one at the table.

Love ripens slowlyBonds deepen softlyAnd I, with my impatienceHave ruined many opportunitiesLike some black sheepdressed in greenTo light up the screenFor all to see InexperienceAnd the lack of humility to learnTwo rodentsThat have ruined many beautiful beginnings

Image by Joshua Woroniecki there is a kind of insightthat only the aged can better appreciate there is a confidencethat only the masters exude there is a joythat only those who appreciate the simple pleasures of life find there is a forcethat only those who have stayed down for far too long and are determined to rise, can emit there is a skillthat only years of failure can develop Email:[email protected] WhatsApp : +233 541 824 839

Image credits: pixabay (Michael McGarry) I was always broke. And lonely. For four solid years. Just when I was headed straight for a bright new dawn at the end of the tunnel, I made a wrong move that sent me spiraling past the beginning of my tunnel into nether regions of unfathomable defeat. The morning of that unforgettable Monday it all happened, my fingers were crossed, with every fiber in my body pulsating one prayer: that my supervisor would be late to work.

At first, it all sounded like some distant dream, something happening very far away. But the whispering intensified, so did the shuffling of feet. The whisperer now seemed to be standing over me, beside the floor where I lay, mumbling and spitting indiscriminately. I awoke. The dream seemed familiar, but I couldn't remember the first occurrence of its incidents. I thought hard, my face buried in my palms as I sat on bedsheets spread on the tiled floor.

Mother,your sacrificesare unforgettablelike the lines and prints in my palms You saw valuein a premature babyAn infant many would have abandonedYou traveled in every direction for healersin search of herbal doctors to cure your son What many would have rejectedYou nurtured into a full grown man like me You were the color…

Watching him from the summer hut under which we grilled meat and prepared drinks to be served to customers reminded me of spy movies I watched a long time ago. He looked like a spy. Or maybe he was one. One could never be sure. We could predict when he'll come, the things he was likely to do and what he ordered.

There used to be just two madmen in my village when I was a kid. Everyone knew them, and parents used their names to scare children into taking their baths and being good. I still remember their names : Mallam Moro and Yawele. Recently as I thought about their names, it occurred to me that these names were probably stories we were never given details of.

I had the opportunity of writing a rengay with David and it was fun. It was my first time writing one, and frankly I had never heard of the term. But David explained it to me and the rules governing these kinds of poems. It was initially challenging for me to think of saying much with few words, but David was very encouraging and supportive.

Image by Cottonbro Studios She said she couldn't see anything in her dreams whenever she  slept in a dark room. The lights must be on before she could make sense of anything in her dreams. "You mean when the lights in your room are out, there is neither sunshine or any ray of light in your dreams? “ the psychologist asked.

Whenever we were caught up with so much work in the office, we longed for public holidays. Then like rain on thirsty lands, we receive some update on a WhatsApp platform or online news website: some public holiday had been announced and was lurking behind the uninformed, waiting to see their surprised looks and giggles at the good news. Imagine our joy whenever a Friday and the Monday of the following week were declared holidays.

A cargo ship of hopesShipwreckedBeneath the sea's toesLurkedGhosts of entrusted dreamsAnd progressHard-earnedSinking Foundations of steel sacrifices laidBricks of greed have replacedPaths of prosperity chartedOvergrown with weedAnd feetOf the coldhearted The Promiseland has become wastelandSince fallen heroes sankTo nether regionsAnd seasons have piled upon seasons The sea is no keeper…

The resilience of a peopleCrushed into hateLike juice of grapesTettered to constant shellingAnd constant sellingOf half-truths and half-bakedRealities by the media Surgical scissors and needlesMay sew woundsBut they can't cup deep enoughTo reach the brokenness withinTo sew and stitchBroken hopes and promises Can you feel the silenceOf budding innocent lives mowed downBegging us to join our voicesTo end senseless warsAnd senseless violence?

It was the kind of place everyone dreamt of goingNot because it was a place meant for the richBut because of the peace, quiet, calmJust something about the placeCalling the soul to come take a look at least onceIn a lifetimeSo many stories about the placeOf how great friends reconnected thereOf how people met the love of their lives…

Photo credits: InsightPhotography I see him wave at familyAnd friendsAnd those in betweenAs he stood at the height of the airstairsGone to seek medical care abroadFor a diseases that has been knockingAnd he's felt too scared to open Here he returnsAs a package flown in by airThe head of a family, mentor and leader…

PatienceWhen sprinkledInto boiling situationsTakes time to dissolveAnd colour complicationsWith its sweet, calm scent It's a long lone roadThat journey between a dreamAnd it's fulfilmentWhere tangible silenceQuestions one's beliefsRendering faith brittle and cold No pair of handsCan stop the sun's shineHave hope, even in the face of shame Don't let these tidal wavesSink your calmBright sunny timesThe reward of the resilient

As I hurried with the basket of food over my headin the direction of the farm, I imagine the scene awaiting me: Students scattered across acres of yam moundsSome tilling, others weeding, the majority (girls)carrying weeds further off the farmland to be burnt I arrive, after a long walk towards the outskirts of the village where our farms are found, having greeted tons of elders and relatives on motors, bicycles and foot…

A hunchback leans against the bark of a treeWatching football training sessions on a parkAs the bus I sat in circled a cornerI spot the smallish figure hiding behind the treeStealing every glance there is to gleanFrom the parkI stare, and wonderWhat could be going on in his mindDid he wish he could play like them?Does he regret his condition?

I have always been eager to teach, to share, an enthusiasm that has eroded graduallyto reveal its true face : prideToday, I embark on a new journey, one of silence, of listening, of paying attentionI have missed many important lessons and sessions of growthwhile I was gone looking for new converts to discipleI have achieved little, with so much talk, so much time…