Allowing the sun to kiss my face
Putting beads of sweat on my face
Gritting with salt but of change too
I’ve been thirsty not for water but of change.
I will be going home tonight.
When the rain comes, it comes hard
Quenching the arid land and cooking a
Heady aroma of sand and heat
Wafting breeze seduces my mind home
I will watch the children dance in the rain tonight.
The fire crackles and the flames do the leaping dance.
The music weaving from the flute of my Pa is satin.
And the wind whistles with it.
I see the old folks dancing to the rhythm.
I will be going home tonight.
~Pippi~
THE RUSHING WIND MADE Hertty’s skirt billow gently but threatening to review a taut flesh of her thighs. She quickly clasped her hands on it and gave a nervous glance at the passenger next to her who was sleeping off like no-one’s business. The dust seeped through the window and settled everywhere. It would have help if the passenger would close the windows but even she knew better than to make such a request. The days were stifling in this time of August where the sun rays can roast maize and boil egg.
The bus gave a jolt when it missed a port hole that was to be swerved. The glass window rattled vigorously and the man next to her bumped his head against the seat in front.
“Damn the government for the bad roads!” Cursing and pouting in his sleep, he rubbed his forehead where it has suffered the bump most.
And come to think of it, that she was coming home to meet a tarred road. Gosh! This was Ghana where the people had to yell to be heard. The country’s money being squandered by some corrupted dudes was like an ear block to them. The country was still looking for the ‘messiah’ out of the blues to save them, and it seemed forever!
But even that was okay her. She was going home and didn’t seem to be bothered about the government. Home. Why did the word send tingles all over her body? She recalled everything about home. As vivid as though it has not been a year since she left. The friendly people thronging the small town, the rich soil of the land, the cuisine of the people, the river and its fine landscape surrounding it, her parents and her grandmother and her best friend at last and they would hug. How she had missed her friend. What has happened to her now? Has she grown an inch taller than her? If she has, it’d be so unfair but why did she refuse to reply her letters. Was she angry with her, but why?
She had seen her friend many times in her dream and indeed, it was due to her heart which has grown vey fonder. She laid her head backwards on her seat, stretched her tired long legs and continued to think.
She was going home and the smile that tugged at the corners of my mouth became a silent laughter.
The bus took up a speed when it got to a tarred road leaving the whirling mass of red dust behind. This was how it was with the government, always fulfilling half of their promise including half constructed roads. The bus gave one or two cough and halted at the station. People started to get off but the man next to her seemed to be far-away on a dreamland. She wanted to wake him but what if he curses her like how he had done with the government? She lifted her skirt and carefully, leaped over him then got down. There were so much shuffling about as the porters rushed towards the bus with the hope of finding loads to carry. The station boys were on top of the bus taking down the loads to the passengers.
