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Monthly Archives: May 2013

The Chicken Story

The Chicken Story

Growing up, one of the many tasks I undertook was killing a chicken, plucking the feathers and butchering it. I remember vividly how I had to chase the first Cockerel  I  attempted killing after I had slit its throat for more than two hours before I finally slit its throat properly.  The chicken actually played a smart one on me by pretending to be dead and once I dropped it took some few seconds to regain its composure and then bolted. There are times I feel it somehow sensed my naivety and took full advantage of it but guess what I had the last laugh because I chewed its meat meticulously and intentionally constipated so it felt the pain. (heehehe just joking about the constipation side)

For a while now I have been wondering whether our kid wills actually go through some of these experiences we went through and the lessons that came with them, experiences such as rearing your own animals such as guinea pigs, rabbits, goats and chicken.  It feels super nostalgic, thinking of  how we glowed with pride like fireflies in the dark as we showed off our cockerels or hens to our friends and how we traded secrets like undercover KGB operatives on how to fatten them in anticipation for an Easter or Christmas feast of either fufu or jolof rice.

In a technologically advanced era, we must feel we are geniuses and very creative but for a while now, I have been thinking about all the stories we were told as kids to get us to do what we were supposed to do. One of such stories that fascinates me a lot, is the story of the feathers of the chicken growing back when you talk whilst plucking feathers off its carcass.  Someway somehow we believed this and so you’ll find three young kids around a pan plucking feathers with their lips tucked in like a blanket at a military training camp.  Not wanting the feathers to grow back we developed sign languages to communicate with each other on when to dip the carcass in hot water again, throw away the plucked feathers or bring the knife . The psychology was so strong that in our minds’ eye, we actually saw the feathers grow back when we talked during the plucking. The only thing we never saw were all the feathers growing back .Come to think of it this was just the best way to get us keep quiet and do a meticulous job plucking the feathers. Apparently, these stories were handed down orally from generation to generation but my fear is that they will go extinct soon since most of us go for the already dressed chicken which I like to term ‘mortuary chicken’ but until this happens lets share our rich stories that always had a moral with the younger generation.

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Posted by on May 30, 2013 in ARTICLES

 

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Lost

Lost

It is out of ignorance that the he- goat mounts its mother with pride

And so I offer you my thoughts for sale

Not to the highest bidder or the lowest bidder

But to those  of you, who will lend my your ears

An elder does not by pass a child who has drawn his catapult

With the pebble aimed at child’s own chest

So these words I speak, I speak because I have to speak them

We have returned to an empty home full of people

The cloth that secured us firmly to the back of our existence

now hangs at the entrance of the public lavatory

Where our identity was raped at noon

You call the ways of our fathers archaic and the songs of our mother soulless

Yet you find no meanings in your new ways

For so long have you span these lies you spent fortunes on

Trying to convince yourselves that they are the truth

Forgetting that no matter how black a cow is, its milk is always white

So these I ask you

Have you ever seen a blind man cat call after a beautiful damsel who walks past him

Or have you ever seen a corn develop a cob without tasseling.

Have you? Eeerh!

Have you?

So how will you define who you if you do not know what you are?

*Feature image from govt336blogspring11.wordpress.com.

 
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Posted by on May 23, 2013 in Poems

 

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I Want To Write A Poem

I Want To Write A Poem

I want to write a Poem

For lovers,Haters,broken-hearted, the strong, the wise and the foolish

about these thoughts I have

Of love,ethos,pathos and logos

controlling our heartbeats,blood running through our veins

Making us hyperactive,inactive,timid,brave,fools,wise,weak,strong, stupid and courageous.

Anytime we see,hear,feel,smell,touch

What we desire,aspire for, deserve, reach for

Not knowing whether it is what we

Deserve,need,must have in order to live a full life

And so we plunge ourselves into this illusion,reality,truth,lie,fact

of human emotion and thought called Love

I want to write a Poem

From me for me, you, everyone, no one,someone

About these thoughts I have

About everything, nothing, something, anything

Which I have seen, learned,read,experienced, seen, not read about, not seen and know nothing about.

For life has thrown a lot,a little ,nothing,something, everything at me

Leaving me to decode,synchronize and decipher things my mind and soul can and cannot comprehend

but believes it has comprehended

So in my sanity,madness,confusion, Clarity,revelation, blindness

I have to write this Poem with nothing,everything something ,anything as the theme

Hoping I get an audience willing enough to read my thoughtfulness,my nonsense,my absurdity,my clarity

And look me straight in the eyes and say we are as confused,convinced,educated,uneducated, knowledgeable ignorant

About life and living it as you are.

 
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Posted by on May 6, 2013 in Poems

 

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Tears

Tears

I want to trap those silver tears

that rolled down your cheeks

And save them in a bottle as a reminder

Of how my heart broke

to hear the fears of the tears

That rolled down the face that always held the smile

Which removed the cloak of doubt from my heart

And held me spellbound in the belly of our desires

I want to undo the cloth of each broken promise

I clothed you with.

Unlace the laces of doubt I tied with my actions and inactions

For I saw the reflection of your pain in each tear I wiped

And silently wish this would not be framed in time
For the reason for those silver tears haunts me down to the soul

But alas, a new day is birthed out of the egg of darkness

I pray the only time I see your tears is when I make you laugh your soul out.

 
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Posted by on May 2, 2013 in Poems

 

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