Ndi Oyibo, ndi americanah.

You sit in your glossy, little,

self-righteous world, murmuring endlessly

about the poor customer service on the Island,

The poor mannerisms of healthcare staff at UPTH

And the yellow Venn diagrams, formed by sweat

Underneath both arms of your new driver’s shirt.

 

You raise your hands to check the time

On your svaroski embellished wristwatch,

Your once evenly brown fingers- formerly cracked

In several places by the Nigerian harmattan-

Now shines in unsightly patches of brown and yellow.

 

You roll your tongue as you say ‘good morning’ to us.

You let out a resounding hiss at a hawker,

You groan at a food vendor who is slow

To understand your wanna’s and gonna’s,

And slam both your palms together in disgust,

When the woman at the market

Provides your balance from within her bra.

 

What have you become, my child?

Who do you now think you are?

I know you crossed the mighty Atlantic,

Without stepping foot in the water,

You achieved that feat.

 

But my child, you were not here

When the soldiers came like swarms of insects,

Destroying everything within the market, just

As the red headed ants consume whatever is

Within their path, as they move in chaotic unison.

The market woman was. She also saw

Daughters torn from the breast of their mothers

And married to men that looked like ancestors.

 

Ndi Oyibo, ndi americanah,

When the Community Primary schools at Rumuokwurusi

were shut down,and children were left

With the remembrance of faded covers of English textbooks,

You were not here. But the food vendor was-

It used to be his school, cut him some slack.

 

Ndi Oyibo, ndi americanah,

You may have walked several thousand miles

Away from home, but you have never walked

Even a quarter of a mile in the shoes

Of these people, who in a bid to survive, defy all odds

And try their best to please you.

 

Ndi Oyibo, ndi americanah,

Before you begin to massacre the people,

Whose present is now your past,

Remember the days when you thought

Airplanes had conductors, and

Stopped at various junctions in the sky.

The days when you sat on the pile of

‘bend-down-select’ clothes in Mile 3 market

Fighting over first grade T-shirts with others.

The days when you went into ‘mama-put’ joints,

Completely oblivious of customer service.

 

Ndi Oyibo, ndi americanah,

Before you open your mouth to complain about the

People you meet upon your return home,

buru uzo ga ije n’uzo nke ha.

 

 

****

Photo credit: Chidinma Amogu, of Middle Class Nigerian Girl blog. You should check her out as she is ready to take the blogosphere by the hand.

Igbo Language scrutiny: Chidinma Amogu. Thank you again, for letting me use your language.

Who can interpret the last line of the poem? 😀

Write your answer in the comment section.