The village was subdued by a sudden attack of abnormalities,
As the weather drove a wedge between sons of the same mother.
We wondered why it happened same time, every year as we browsed
Through concordances of our superstitions
Slapping blame on whatever peccadilloes we had committed
In complete disregard for the wages of our sins.
This was our state of mind until the old woman uttered words of wisdom,
Words to secure our freedom from naiveté and cluelessness
About this season of tortured skin and tempestuous tempers.
So we listened, we learned, we understood
This cantankerous saga between our hearts and the Harmattan:
We had dealt with what we could do nothing about and we lost.
But harm is harmless when arms are together and men would rather
Understand than undermine each other since the weather
Is no excuse for what we do to each other,
For seasons change but life goes on in the village.
"A Harmattan Matter" is the first of our series of poems on the Harmattan. New entries will be posted each week, and collected here.