To The Broken Ones
You were not taught too many things about love
Your father was a drunk who wore his heart on his fist
As he laid his love upon your mother’s brown skin until it turned black
Your mother stayed, there was no going back
She said the black skin was made to withstand pain, tear and crack
She glowed with the healing power of ‘Abuba Eke’
The python’s fat that trickled down her skin
The oil your fingers took to the parts of her body
Where her shaky fingers would not reach
You were not taught too many things about music
But your mother screamed out sad melodies
As she called upon her ancestors
You sang with her as a boy
Sometimes you sang alone into your pillow at night
But you became her ancestor when you were old enough to hold a knife
When your father’s blood trickled down your hands
And the neighbors praised your bravery
They said it was a good thing you look like your mother
You visit your father sometimes in prison
Not to give him a reason to live
But to listen to him sing you some tearful apology
Maybe it will fix your broken
Give you a reason to live
You were not taught the right way to be a man
But you never wanted to be your father
So when your palms traveled across the face of the one you love
You knew you only needed a mirror to see your father
*Abuba Eke (Python’s Fat) is often used in the Eastern part of Nigeria to treat bruises and wounds on the skin.
To The Broken Ones is a Poem about parental bond (Love and hate), domestic violence and the long term effects of a dysfunctional home on a child. It shows how we sometimes, become entangled in a life we never chose for ourselves, but yet, we thrive. It touches on some of the beliefs we have that affect how and why we choose to connect with one another. It is set in the Igbo tribe of Nigeria.
Nkem
The last time I saw Nkem,
His tongue was in my mouth
It moved in ways that echoed things
Our lips would never make into words
The things we weren’t allowed to do
But we did
We did everything but spoke of nothing
We had conversations with our bodies
Listening to the intensity of our touch
To the beating of our hearts
The depth of our breath
But we hid
He was an unveiling
The discovery of a different kind of chaos
More felt than seen
More peaceful than catastrophic
He was sunshine in the rain, a cliché
But yet, real
He said “I love you” for the first time
In the corridor of my Yaba flat
His arms were wrapped around me
As though we had forever to live in our sin
I wondered what his wife would think
If she heard
Five years have gone by
In a crowded Lekki mall
I can read his body language
Better than my doctor’s prescription
I want every part of his flesh against mine
But should I?
What would he do if he knew?
That I still think of his hands on my skin
At breakfast with my lover, Khalil
What would he do if he knew?
That cancer has given me a few months to live
And I want to mess up our lives with it
*Lekki and Yaba are towns in Lagos, Nigeria
Nkem is a poem about finding love in the wrong places and how we become drawn to people that are not necessarily healthy for our conscience but great for our hearts. How being a mistress is considered socially and morally wrong but who teaches the heart to heed social constructs?
Brother
I was given a gift,
It was Kachi’s voice
For the last time before the rift
Before I was left with nothing but noise
I still think of his last word -‘brother’
Begging for his life
From a brother beyond the border
But life left my brother through a brother’s knife
For years we’ve lived through racism,
Drawing strength from our ancestors
We lived the suffering of every black skin
Irrespective of the country, it was about ‘us’
It was in father’s teary eye for Madiba in December
Stories and movies from our childhood about apartheid
Children, Pieterson, Ndlovu, we had to remember
Mother, humming Masekela’s ‘Bring Him Back Home’ at night
Twenty-Five years later, Kachi dies young
Not from hunger, like we’ve always thought
Not from poor healthcare and it didn’t take long
Not from the evils of Boko Haram in the North
It was in the hands of someone he called- brother
For a word, I cannot pronounce- X-e-n-o-p-h-o-b-i-a
Brother is a poem about the current Xenophobia in South Africa, through the eyes of a Nigerian
Bad Drivers and Good Cars
Where would you like to go today?
How would you like to drive through the road that is my body?
The one that breaths and breaks for your kind
Father says my road leads to heaven
It should be driven on by the most elite
Mother wants me to save my path for the right driver
So that they drive through only me and never stop
They were both too absent to notice that mine is the road already taken
Too often in the past, I care very little about today’s traffic
My road is worth nothing without the one driver driving through it
My road is worth nothing if I let too many drivers in
What is the worth of the driver without a road to drive through?
What is the worth of the driver with too many driving time?
The first driver took down my gates before I was ready
He was family, I was a child and access was easy
So he drove through me without my permission
Leaving little potholes on my smooth tracks
He was very fast and furious
He needed to get to heaven without being caught
The second driver came with nice words and good looks
He was slow but he had the most impact
He lost his breaks and crushed deeper into my potholes
He left with all my street lights, leaving me in the dark
I welcomed the third driver
A real tiger at heart but he came with weak tyres
And drove through my dark road with deep potholes
He was never going to be enough light for my darkness
It was too much pressure for any driver
He left with a little darkness from me
I welcomed the fourth, fifth and tenth drivers
There is too much traffic on my bad road now
And I welcome every driver, elite enough to afford my repairs
I’m on the tenth driver fixing the potholes caused by the first driver
Bad Drivers and Good Cars is a poem about rape, patriarchy, child abuse and the long term effects of these problems on the victim.
Rose and Tobacco
It was one of those Saturdays you hate to spend alone at home
We had just finished doing your laundry
I teased you about the fading color of your favorite blue jeans
You jokingly snapped
And said it was the one you had put my heart in its pocket forever
I tapped your ass
Knowing how much you disliked it
So I ran
I ran into your kitchen
Hoping to successfully hide from your wrath of love
But certain you would find me anyway
You found me
You always did
My short legs are nothing compared to your sugar-cane legs
You knew I liked losing myself in your arms
So you held me exactly how I love to be held
And kissed the childish laughter away from my face
You smelled so good
It was like a mixture of Rose and Tobacco
It was a new scent but I loved it
I loved it on you
I love you
“You have my entire heart”
You whispered
And slowly withdrew your lips from mine
Twisted my heart with your eyes a little longer
It was our last kiss
Our last moment in heaven
Before hell knocked on your door
In the form of your wife
The one you never told me about
It was the last time we were together and happy
I want to be able to remember it
Ugochi is a Nigerian writer and an intense lover of books. When she is not reading or writing, she is working as a communications officer for NGOs’ to improve the condition of education in Nigeria. Ugochi hopes to connect with and heal people through writing. She is on Twitter here.
