I missed home the way a child misses her late parents
I missed the land where my innocent feet roamed
Unsettling dust that disturbed the nostrils
When the leaves were green and clingy.
I missed the place where all around me were brothers
Where the waters that bathed me, bathed others
And I could tell their histories just as they could tell mine
Without the help of any written book.
I missed the place where I could enter another man’s house
Eat without first considering how much was in my pocket,
Say my mind so loud for fierce wind to carry on its back
And still sleep in a doorless room
With my two eyes closed with the glue of tiredness.
I missed home
I missed the place where things were done the old way
Food spiced with locust beans and served in leaves
Accompanied by freshest milk
Agoro fetched from the nipples of breastfeeding palm trees
In the forest of a thousand mysteries.
I missed our crude and barbarism
Though, painted in dark colours that made children ran for fear
By teachers of everything the white brought
Big ups to those who still play bata drums instead of drum sets
Play flutes instead of keyboards
Go to live festivals instead of packaged films in the cinemas
They are the africans and not the tie tiers here.
I missed home
I missed everything home offered
And the tender skins of our dark maiden to whom my lost and thirst in the unholy hours were quenched.
I missed home the way a child misses his late parents.