The car ran like a hare’s sprint
In a blink we left them to squint
To see us through the vaporizing sand
The whole mass of brown land
Danced in the atmosphere
The journey was not smooth
So rough like an aching cough
Soon I was at Kadoli
And I anticipated Gudayiri
Along the route I numbered the houses
About thirty at Kadoli
And the rest I considered abandoned
The place was a corpse
But at Kadoli we met two women
Each with a child wrapped at the back
Their destination, Gudayiri
But they were nowhere near
They had walked miles with dust
On their feet that could turn a pond brown
I was lost in the sweat from their faces
As they jumped in the wagon
Scattered houses along the route
Dilapidated and rotten thatch roofs
Hung loosely on waste-away bricks
Life in the interior, an eye saw
I wished there was space to accommodate
The many more women along the route
Who paddle their hearts, early morning, to Wa
And back with hope of a better life
I am at Yeero
Don’t think it Yaro, a man’s name
In a flash I went round the town
My journey was only an eighteen mile trek
But I saw the countryside
And witnessed the pain of women
And the neglect of remote towns
If you get time tell others
Of these many villages
Where the politicians visit once in four years
Say that we need them to act
And it is now and no other time.
18 Miles to Yeero - Nana Agyemang Ofosu
Read More: Nana Agyemang Ofosu
Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)
I have many times been awestruck by the works of Nana Agyemang Ofosu*. But the oracular '18 Miles to Yeero' has brought me to a summit where I steadfastly believe that this Kumasi-bred poet / civil engineer can invent a new genre of literature amongst this Ogov movement.
Welldone Nana... I'm just a bit worried about the inconsistency of your pen name. At one point you were Nana Ofosu Agyemang. If you want to go professional please maintain one.
Admirably, we may choose to re-
arrange or spell your name with
various accents, like Dela does to Entwi to my excitement.
...reminds me of my time in the Upper West..the village of Lambusie.
...you painted the picture well in my mind again!!
...heard from somewhere that a picture is worth thousands of words but I see the reverse in here.Like the painter will hurry for his brush, likewise you dash for your pen (as a poet) and did scribble in a picturesque expression that will make every painter stand with jealousy in the eyes.I am really marvelled at your use of metaphors....I have never been to this place you describe but must confess I've been there through the power of your description.Continue to keep poetry alive fellow
Darko, the name is Nana Agyemang Ofosu and it is final.
Oh my poor eyes! Nana I have checked the archive. I got it wrong. Pardon me.
Indeed, some short journeys do last for eternity.
A journey of “18 Miles to Yeero” by Nana Agyemang Ofosu, recounts a lifetime experience of memorable imprints. A very descriptive and deeply touching poem I will remember for a very long time. Nice read.
I sure do hope the appropriate quarters are listening to all this. I agree with the poet, things need to change for the better. The politicians must have the poor masses at heart not only for their votes but also for their social condition and overall betterment. Perhaps being a leader is a different thing from being a politician, just as being a statesman is far different from mere jingoism.
I do believe there shall come a time when the baton would be passed on to us. But the question is how prepared are we? Would we be found wanting too? Would we also be found to jump into the same band wagon? Great expectations demands great preparations on the part of whom least is given but much is expected.
@ Antwi, I am so sorry brother, for tongue-handling nay, mispronouncing your name as Entwi. The correction is well noted. I am however; very happy and proud that I speak Twi somehow fluently even though with an accent. Hahaha, it makes me proud that Ghana is the only African country that comes close to a common national language, Twi. Indeed, isn’t it inspiring that all Nigerians think that Twi is a Ghanaian national language. I like that.
Dela, you haven't hurt a fly. I'm okay. Honestly I was excited to see that version of my name. And given this opportunity, it needs to be told that it escaped me twice: thus in previous moments i had wanted to raise-up my thumbs.
I left this poem not with much hope, not that I looked for one. But it all seemed so real.
Post a Comment