Konko Jabele

©2010 Dele Bamidele
My mien distorts with nostalgia
For those moony nights at supper
When a common wealth of hands
Criss-cross another over a
Gourd-bowl of mealie at
Middle of heathen compound.
I salivate for times bygone
When we assemble at night
At feet of elders to gladden
Out minds with juices from
Their oral repertoire
Where are those times
When for fear of etyeri masquerade
Moral miscreants scampered about
To cover their wares
Of Shame?
For those bucolic times, my heart clamours
When the death of Lagbaja
Provokes tears from our stares
For he is community’s death.
What of those times when
My project and task is community’s
And everyone sacrifices sweat and strength?
Now, we live in enclaves
A.k.a. flats and apartments
And lock our humaneness in closets
Of privacy where a neighbor’s
Wail and whine is no skin
Off our asses.
We live in cocooned world
Where everyone sucks his
Mother’s breast: wet or dry
It is Konko Jabele.
[click to view introduction]