Godwin Inyang's Blog

‘Nsima! Nsima!’ someone in the corridor was yelling and when it went on for too long, the baritone voice was out there calling for Nsima and ordering the television to be put off. ‘People are outside needing water to buy but you’re inside watching TV. You don’t know how many people are out there wishing to have the opportunity you’re taking for granted. The little money you’re making might seem like nothing to you but millions right now are desperately looking for such just to feed. Nsima, you better learn to be serious with any business I ask you to handle. Watching movies all your life won’t help you in any way.’ ‘Grandpa, I wasn’t watching any movie.’ ‘As if I didn’t hear the sound from the telly? Go out there and attend to the customers!’ I went to bring a block as the lad ran outside. Abasiama had raised three courses of blocks when Nsima’s grandmother walked in to assess our work. With a voice at a level slightly above a whisper, she said: ‘So this man really means to

  ‘Go and meet my wife and tell her to open the doors of her shop so you’d pass through that place to do your work,’ a baritone voice ordered us as the mason I was to serve announced, after our greeting, we had arrived for work. ‘Yes sir,’ Abasiama replied and wheeled around as I followed and we headed out again from the commodious corridor to the frontage. He stopped to ask a tall teenage boy sitting on the parapet of the veranda and watching the street, ‘Where is grandma?’ The boy sprang to his feet and moved towards the far end of the concrete yard. He stooped and stepped down under the broken roof of the shop and walked to the metal door, knocked on it and called, ‘Grandma.’ The broken wooden post (one of two) Abasiama just told me we’d replace with two metal posts later in the day or the next day. The knock and call went on for some long seconds before a bolt rattled and the door opened. We drew close and greeted, ‘Good morning, ma.’ The elderly lady in the doorway a

  ‘ I n life, nothing is absolutely free’ –   M any times as a child I heard the refrain. ‘ U ntil you venture out little you’d see’ – S o I was told still running naked in the rain. T he time came I moved away from home,   D itching all the trappings of childhood. I n the city, I lived in a desperate zone, G aining mental muscles growing into manhood.   F reebies, I can say now, come with strings I nbuilt which the giver would often pull: R efuse a gift if you’re unsure what it brings; S hut firmly your door if unclear is the rule; T ake time to know your horse isn’t a mule.   T ake time or else someone plays you for a fool. O ften now I remember all I was told as a child   G radually gaining knowledge at home and school; R emember Pa’s teaching to apply my nous and pride A nd all that learning helped me in dire times; B ut for it, sucked in I’d be in the city whirlpool.   M y survival I put in this acrostic and rhymes. Y eah, e

  Blackness is not something You wake up one morning, Black sister, and just wish away. Blackness lies deep beyond reach, Hard for corrosive cream to bleach.   Blackness can’t be wished away – It’s the rest you find in the dark serene night; Blackness can’t be wished away – It’s the smoothness a car gets from a tarmac while in flight;   Blackness can’t be wished away – It’s reverence perceived in a sombre priestly gown; Blackness can’t be wished away – It’s justice seen in solemn law by one long trodden down;   Blackness can’t be wished away – It’s the warmth in winter obtained from burning coal; Blackness can’t be wished away – It’s the steely beauty seen in an ebony totem-pole;   Blackness can’t be wished away – It’s the soulful strains heard in a blackbird’s song; Blackness can’t be wished away – It’s the sensitivity of a black box as the plane goes along …   Blackness is not something You wake up one morning, Black brothe