Jaachi Writes

May We Always Remember, by John Chizoba Vincent MAY WE ALWAYS REMEMBER The black cat came again. You know Grandpa told us last time that black cats especially, symbolize evil. When it came, it went towards the shrine. It looked at the tallest wooden goddess, then to the gods at the dark side of the shrine where grandpa usually sit and later to the oil on the wooden bowl. It dipped it's tongue into the bowl and licked the red oil. It looked back and returned to the back yard. I followed it gradually, then, I saw it stood tall and skinny; eyes flashed and terrible. I became afraid. I remembered grandma. I remembered she told us how a black cat appeared in their backyard before the death of her mother. I prayed that nothing happens to any of us.  I was timid. I ran inside and looked at grandpa who was lying on the wooden bed. He was fine. He was breathing fine, although not loud but he was very fine. He had fever in the morning and Chike got some herbs from Ubakala bush f...

QUESTIONING THE ILLUSION OF BURYING THE DEAD IN SOME PART OF NIGERIA Why do people spend much money during funerals? Why do we honour people more when they are dead than when they were alive? We build houses, we re-paint the old house, we repair the Zinc, we build more rooms and repair the damaged toilet and do some other things where as when this gentle man and woman was alive, you could not afford to give him/her one naira to buy drug to get himself or herself treated. On that day when he/she is dead, you kill the fattest cow, you gather the whole bags of rice in Nigeria, you make the whole village bubble in joy of things to eat and those to drink. What happen to this money when this man or woman was alive? Why don't you collect this loan to treat him/her? Why don't you create an opportunity to celebrate him/her? What kind of honour do you want to give him/her in the grave? We are all hypocrites! I grew up seeing things. Things that made me want to lose myself int...

POEM 257: OHAMADIKE (For Nnamdi Kanu) Cowards kept mum in the face of tyranny You didn't. Indecisive folks played hide and seek, You didn't. Elders 'so called' ate fat and belched loudly, You didn't. The ignorant ones may condemn you and say all manner of ill about you but my pen, like a book of remembrance, shall remember you and write all manner of good about you. You're an embodiment of courage and dogged activism. You dared 'integrity' with harsh truth. You stepped on sacred toes and ruffled hallowed feathers. You revived a dying dream and made us love this sleep. You defied boundaries and commanded an army of united purpose. True, you had your flaws. Isn't it human to be flawed? True, you were radically unbearable. But who heeds to the plea of a roadside beggar? You showed the world, we are not pleading to be respected in a nation that was supposed to be ours. You made it known we are demanding a right wrongly stripped from us. Today, I remember...

PYTHON DANCE after Odumegwu Ojukwu after Chinua Achebe after Christopher Okigbo after Dele Giwa after Kofi Awoonor after Kwame Nkrumah after Ngugi Wa Thiong'o after Nelson Mandela after Wole Soyinka after Leopold Senghor after Flora Nwapa I am part of this ancestry black struggle For Africa to be reckoned in the world not of ancient historical context of backwardness but of productivity I wasn't part of the python dance taken to the East against the voiceless. Our ancestral souls still beat louder The shrines of our forefathers are not destroyed by palms of westernization We still have men of understanding Men whose hands are legs of fire We've told the boys that no youth returns to early grave again, never! This fashion of corruption is gone Every darkman rules for others to rule. No politician shall ride on a state car Whilst many travels on a trapped roads.Our python dance shall be for restructuring of Africa heritages not for killing our own blood for fun. This we pl...

POEM 144: HE WON'T BEND It's easy to tell the bereaved how not to cry when the death of his loved one is your design. It's easy to hush the hungry kid and deny him his sweet biscuit when in your hand is that same whip that flogged his father to his grave. You tell him, 'look, you can't be brave' He shrinks,  He sighs, He paints the sky with teary eyes and wonder why father couldn't break your arms. It’s a different song when everything’s wrong, When this beaten son is feeling infernally mortal; when it’s ten against one,  and hope there is none, When he casts the chips down, and dance the dance Buckle up! This little soldier shall charge at you with placards and a fiery plea Even your whip, though flung at him, Shall toughen his skin and feed his will With that same craving lions have for flesh. He may not survive your envious whip But he won't bend to your whim No he can't. He'll bring you down six feet below his father - Stefn Sylvester Anya...

POEM 92: AVERAGE IGBO BOY He saunters from map to map mapping out stratagem hoping end will meet it's means more meat, rice, beans for friends and family, and more for you who tags him scum. But he's an average Igbo boy. He spreads his wings out wide across ethnic divides Up North,  Westward,  even beyond this shore because he desires mama would dance come December. He's an average Igbo boy. He gyms daily at the library Building six packs of intelligence. Writes out his heart to unify even the lots that accuse him of divide. He's mocked by all,  And when he revolts They talk him down because he's an average Igbo boy. He's me, you, your uncle and dad He's your husband and only brother. He's the boy who earned scars protecting you. How's he now an object of ridicule? I know you know he's better than that generalization but would your 'fine' senses concur? But what do I know? I'm just an average Igbo boy. #365DaysPoetry #Pengician #S...

POEM 52: ZOO Once upon a time There arose in the land of the Burnt Faced A man fair and mad Whose rants made elders lads And lads elders On the rooftop of the Queen's Castle His voice echoed and turbans rattle He lamented of flesh eating cattle He raised a flag that died in battle Once upon a time he washed up shore And walked into the jailer's cottage cuffed Back and fort they traded blames His brethren matched chanting his name The jailor burnt them with bullet flames And back and fort they traded blames. Once upon a time there lived a rising sun Whose journey to the sky Was nipped at it's bud Whose proverbs of how a zoo Boasts of men like me, like you. And silenced was this man made Buy the man who rodents chased From his hallowed royal palace. Gone is the hunter who troubled lean lion king: Reptiles and monkeys are come to play Upon the stage he lamented And left for me, for you: Yes, he was right, here is a zoo. #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA

POEM 29: OMALICHA Omalicha, I'll come to you. The first daughter of Mazi Okaka, beautiful and ebony full of contours and beauty. The elders call you, 'asampete nwa' , parents call you, 'ugonnaya' , your mates call you, 'nwamma' . Every man wants to call you 'obim' . I don't want to call you names, I want you to call me 'obim' . Omalicha,  Bia nu ka iburu nkem. I, Jaachi, will appear in court, with heart in cuffs for your heart that I have stolen, and those glances you think I refused to return. Omalicha,  Your radiant face  speaks of smiles; smiles of love. As I hide under the Udala tree where my bicycle you see, I cannot but shy away  as I behold your smile. Odim na obi m. Chai!  Iriela m isi! Nwamma Omalicha, The dream of every man. Omalicha, Your smiles reaches my every part. It reaches down my very heart Down down to my inner man. It paints rainbow on my skyline And makes my heart jingle Like your waist band when you jiggle your wais...