They are nice masters
In this regard she is lucky, I guess
They make her feel at home
When she cooks and cleans
Sings to the baby, feeds the dogs
And the cats and is allowed to watch TV
But when she gets home in the evening
Without electricity, it’s a marvel to her
In the midst of her poverty, to see the joy
In her family’s eyes and to be at home again.
– CHE CHIDI CHUKWUMERIJE.
Everyday she printed dust on feet
Earlier than sunrise
She was a surprise
To every sleeping wanderer she will meet
On her way to the well, wishing well,
An empty bucket on her head
One more in each hand that bled
On her way to hell
The well, the well is dry
It is dry, barren, unresponsive
The less you get, the more you give
The desert will never cry
Every evening she dusts her way home
Not a drop of water
To herself she will mutter
Soliloquy on when the rain will come.
– CHE CHIDI CHUKWUMERIJE.
They call you many things
Name-calling is a game of stones
Hydra-headed mad woman chattering away
Away noisily to the sea – come to me, let me be
My own jam-packed contradiction.
Let’s take a stroll from the desert to the sea shore.
Before you get there, you will have to heal
The sick and the infirm, educate
The ignorant, the uninformed, the misinformed, the rudderless, help
The needy, house
The homeless, don’t forget
The aged, the retired, give money to
The poor, awaken hope
In the despairing along the long way to Africa’s destination.
Dictators and cabals raise hell
Entertainers and fanatics raise the roof
And the corrupt raise the cost of life –
We’ve had enough of them all
Let’s raise our standard of living.
There can never be freedom, never
Be peace, nor security, in a system that nurtures
The endemic poverty of this
Many people.
– CHE CHIDI CHUKWUMERIJE.
Sand for breakfast
Tasted no better than shit
I don’t beg for alms anymore
I just snatch it
My mother’s tears
Son I did not bring you up to be a thief
Mom you didn’t raise me to suffer in poverty, did you?
I just want some relief.
Sometimes they look out of their cars
Our eyes meet
I wonder if they ever wonder
If I know the taste of meat.
If I were in their shoes
Would I mean nothing to me
If driving by I saw me chained by poverty
In a system that benefits only me.
– CHE CHIDI CHUKWUMERIJE.
Che Chidi Chukwumerije 