Image Source.
Growing up,
I remember running around the neighbourhood
with the others who were both my age and even older
How we would go to another's house
and take his abandoned motorcycle's tyre
I remember going to the dumping ground
in front of the pastor's house
and pick the tin of milk he had discarded
and reuse them
Turn them into whatever object of fun
Just wanting to get by and enjoy some luxuries
I remember the hunt we embark on
once the rain stops
With torchlights and buckets,
we make our way into the nearby bushes
and gather snails
Even with the rain pouring heavy sometimes
We danced in the rain and watch it fall hard
Whenever a grasscutter misses its way
and come into the open
We chase it till we kill it,
Oh! What a sumptuous meal we would have that night
We saw everything as sports
We just wanted the rush of adrenaline
I remember the lines we make
at the only well in the area
Where everyone gathers with their
bowls and buckets
We always left there looking drenched
like one who has been in the rain for hours
Oh! I remember when I had blood flowing on my shirt
As one of the boys playing threw a stone
I was at the receiving ends of it even though I wasn't with them
The tour around the neighbourhood?
So much to say about that
We never got tired,
I wonder how much energy we had back then
The things we see every day never felt old,
We relished in its permanence
Talking about the bike rides we pay to ride
The table tennis stand we pay to play
Starving ourselves of lunch food at the school
Just so we could at least feel that luxury
We see the foreign kids on television
playing with toys and teddies in greenhouses
and we pity them and say,
"This must be boring to them too"
Oh! Poor us,
we had no idea it was us who lived in a country
who was wretched and in decadence.
We had no idea it was us who deserved the pity and not them
The name third world has stuck on us like a tick,
the story is the same
for every generation that has
lived in my country
The story seem to be the same even with more generations passing
We recycle the old trends too
We thought we were living but on other people's script
Yes, I cherish every of those moments
But a lot of things suddenly making sense right now
I may be from this part of the world
But I am not of this world
At least, not with my thinking.
This Post First Appeared Here.
Thank you for your time.
My pen doesn't bleed, it speaks, with speed and ease.
Still me,
My tongue is like the pen of a ready writer.
Olawalium; (Love's chemical content, in human form). Take a dose today: doctor's order.
