Dr Fixit (001 - 010)

001

I’m working on a tale excitingly long.

Trust me, you’d savour it and click your tongue.

I was born between Generation X and Z

when humans landed on the moon and could see

their earthly mansions from there; the jet

and computer age where mail from one gadget

to another is delivered in quick seconds

and bent to get to Mars are many nations.

I’m racing too to get to that angle

but my tale starts from the heart of the jungle.

 

002

I’m an army ant of great repute

bent to enrich the world with my input

from my native knowledge and acquired wisdom:

with these, all reading me should blossom.

I arrived in this world at the start of the rains

when land cleared is sowed with grains

and the brownish earth sprouts green leaves

and busy atop these are insects like bees.

I grew to play with the insects – the grasshopper,

wasp and butterfly: I was stunned the caterpillar

 

003

turned to it and this made me curious;

my curiosity led me to topics quite serious.

I would look at myself and every member

of our clan and was forced – I remember –

to ask my mother and also my father

if at any time I’d been a caterpillar

before turning an ant. I was always told

to shut up as certain things only when I’m old

would be known – how we began life, it’d seem,

our elders to the kids made it quite dim.

004

This poked my curiosity and I was set

to unravel mysteries on my own and on a date

folks in our clan wouldn’t envisage

and in a way most would be filled with rage.

Quite young, I was always seen far

from our home; many a wound and scar

marked my ardent treks to know more;

anything less for my young self was a bore.

My father’s friends had dragged me on the ear

back home but I was too stubborn to hear

 

005

and heed any corrections that would keep

my curious self at home only to eat and sleep

and get lessons from teachers that would teach

shallowly and tell you the rest you’d reach

and understand when you’ve become a man.

Though I wearied my parents, I did land

a favourite place in my grandma’s heart.

For my age, she felt I was really smart

and she was concerned moulding me to be the best.

With her approval, I kept poking the forest

 

006

around Antburg from Palm Belt to Yellow Lake

and at home, she showed me how to cook and bake

and she said everyone should wash, cook

and sweep as these would make you not to look

for someone to bail you out when you’re far

from home for any reason, to gather lucre

or education or just on a fun trip.

She said great dividends I would reap

if I do them as I could assist my partner

when she was tired as I could help gather

007

scattered things around the home as she’d rest.

When married, she said, I’d have less noise in my nest.

At a point, my parents abandoned me

to my grandma. I left Palm Belt to be

in Yellow Lake and with other kids, the brooks

became our playground and the nooks

of the hills we would probe for long hours.

Mammoth trees became our watchtowers.

We would hide and observe the sky

and our feathered friends as about they’d fly.

 

008

We loved seeing the squirrels and monkeys

seeking for food whammed on the trees.

We listened intently to the medley of songs

emitted by the birds from the leafage to the trunks

of the trees which mingled with the calls

of the animals and insects on tree boughs,

thickets and floor of the forest. Then, we would

mimic them before dusk chased us back from the wood.

Going home, we’d tie bundles of logs

for the fire or else, some of us would be flogged.

 

009

As kids, we were taught to play with a sense

of purpose. Doing otherwise showed you were dense

and a foolish kid was punished with the whip.

Discipline with the army ant goes with a hit.

But my grandma was different. If I strayed

from the right path, Grandma talked and begged

I repeated my mistakes no longer.

She would tell me a little tale as a reminder.

One such tale was about precious time

and how wasting it was not fine.

010

I’d tell you grandma’s tale about time

but let me first shine a light on a dark line.

At home, grandma’s days for a week

were eight – the first seven were for those who’d seek

a market to sell and buy and the last

was for rest from all tasks in the days just past.

Men moved from compound to compound drinking

palm wine available free in pots sitting

on the ground. They ate and chatted long

sharing alligator pepper, kola and many a song.