Every single leaf we smoke for opium
To wade across the river of shame
Yet, we lurch through every mire
Seven times; a mirage for Jordan River
Even our conscience is hypnotized
By the alluring thirst of the forbidden fruit
Alas! There shall come the Master’s call
What leaf, shall hide Adam’s fall?
But to squabble for shredded petals
That withers in the scorching sun
Not a bloom, will glow at dusk
It is a land where crickets creak:
“Screak, screech” all that they see
Where will be our haven
For the stars have eyes that twinkle
Nature’s beauty was not made to wrinkle
Upon the epitaph of Madiba’s tomb
We worshipped with the tip of our tongues
With deep reverence to the Pauper’s honour
That it will be our only fortress!
When one day, the golden robes
Forsake our wretched skins.

Alpha E. Y. 2018©



Terungwa, his little brother cries out to him from behind. The helplessness from his younger brother’s voice pushes his face to the distant skies, as though some answers awaited him. Mocked by the vastness of the empty space above, Sesugh bows his dolorous shame to the dampness of his shirt. The shirt will soak every agony from his heart, for as long as his eyes can pour. “I’ll wipe my tears with my left hand and hold you tight with my right,” he said with a broken voice. He stammers more words, not quite clear this time, just in symphony with his brother’s wailing. “don..t wo, wo… rry”, he forces out the words but Terungwa cuts him short, “Baba yeee, Mama yeee” he wails, wagging his mouth wide to divert the cascades of tears from his cheeks, lining down his little jaw.

Sesugh holds his brother tight as they force their way through the mammoth of crowd that gathered round the grave. He needs to make it to the frontline, in order to identify the remains of his parents to his younger brother. He owes his little brother the allegiance of reconnecting him with their parents, though lifeless. It could be a family reunion of some sort. He cannot tell if they will hear him or not, but his sweat, mixed with tears will ascend to heaven. When it drops on the earth, a seed will surely germinate. For such are the significance of children.
The news of the attack had flared like wild fire in the village. With no such civilization as a morgue anywhere within miles from the village, the burial had to be done to rid the village of unpleasant odour and gory memories of the deceased. It is easy to observe that it isn’t just solidarity for the bereaved that has pulled out this much crowd, but everyone who is affected has at his disposal, the last pass to see their beloved. Such is the mission of little Terungwa and his elder brother, Sesugh.
He manages to jostle through the crowd but could not progress in his quest. The pile of corpses appeared too numerous for his teary eyes to seek through. The dark and thick blood clothed over each dismembered body part created more blurriness to his sight. As if to understand his predicament, little Terungwa forces out curiosity from Sesugh’s back, pushing high his neck to see which he can identify for himself. He gazes confusedly at the lifeless bodies but found no traces of his parents. They are all scrambled to be formed into any human identity; the only depiction of such reality for Terungwa and Sesugh would have been at the abattoir where animals are butchered without regards.

Alpha E. Y. 2018 ©



Wherefore with heavy hearts
We March onwards to man’s woeful end
We become a burden for Earth to carry
Every step swallows us into its volcanic bowels
But how can the spider be too heavy for her web?

Wherefore with heavy hearts
We bury the last of our slain brothers
The earth becomes a woven net
Every step slips us into its pores
The birds can no longer perch

Wherefore with a heavy heart
I wave from my unbroken tomb
I shall remember the hours of departure
I to die and you to live
Which is better? God, only knows
Alpha E. Y.  2018©


Of all the follies of man, the one that lures you to a quick and woeful end is the loss of memory. You become completely removed from life and even insignificant to the air you breathe. You are only floating to the ground like a falling leaf whose remains awaits to be desiccated by the sun; no fossils to be accounted for!
Compatriots! We stopped sniffing our nostrils of the tears we sobbed from the treachery of our kings who sold their brothers to be slaves. While the tears on your face brought you joy, here is a short account of the memories we lost:
As we watched the Mayflower
Vanish into the bowels of the dark Atlantic,
We waved with a smirk;
With it we bid farewell
To the best human treasures
Africa would never regain,
Oblivious of the material treasures
That have gone before.

When most African States gained their independence, many rejoiced in euphoria that trickled out tears from the depths of hearts. The multitude that welcomed Nelson Mandela on the other side of his tunnel, after a long enduring walk to freedom, can be likened to an awakening that meant new flowers would spring from the morning’s bloom. The joy of having to decide who wins elections in new emerging democratic states could only be likened to the rear privileges of deciding who fathers you. In such choices, you would make sure it is one who is fatherly enough; one who feels your pains, one who would sleep in the rains for your sake, and if need be, one who would let go his last breath for your kind to manifest the fruition of your essence.
With such leverage at the disposition of Africans, one would think that the economic gains and values from the Kilimanjaro Mountains, the bustling oil wells of the Ogoni Lands, the fertilizing caves of the Gold Coast to the unending bounties of the never-fallow vegetation of Africa would repay the lost glory of the deflowered maiden of the world. One would have thought that the plights and afflictions of the victims of Mayflower expeditions will throw out blows to the conscience of African leaders. Pathetically, we threw all that into the abyss, only to reckon with the words of Mahatma Gandhi as thus: “we won our freedom but lost our people”. Consequently, we are still perplexed by our choices because the beautiful ones are probably not yet born. In fact, the franchise we got became our predicament.
The history of Nigeria and perhaps Africa is no doubt filled with horrors and gory pictures when narrated sincerely. It is best described as what James Joyce says in Ulyssys as thus: “History, Stephen said, is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.” Probably, the horrors have made us look the other way, despising the irritation of its soreness. The unbended truth still remains that, no society thrives socially, politically or even economically without keen regards to the narratives that brought it to its current stage. Not even Mother Nature; for the last time the iroko tree forgot its root, it came down crashing in the forest.
It should be recalled that our kings who traded the strength of classical African civilization for frail dividends, left the continent to the dire consequence of imperialism. Dan Brown explains this bitter truth to us in the following caption:
“History is always written by the winners. When two cultures clash, the loser is obliterated, and the winner writes the history books-books which glorify their own cause and disparage the conquered foe…”
It was negligence of history that gave us out to slavery in the guise of colonialism. It made us slaves twice on our own lands! As it flourished, every single beauty that Africa beheld was downplayed in colonial literatures. So that if you read such without reference to postcolonial discourses that argued otherwise, you are bound to think theories such as craniology and the likes were God-ordained. This deliberate misinterpretation/alteration of the African history placed the continent on the tip of a poisonous arrow aimed to be fired into the zodiac of oblivion. George Orwell dovetails with this position when he says that the most effective way to destroy people is to deny and obliterate their own understanding of their history.
With these travails not farfetched, it still bothers on us how easily we jettisoned our memories, only to wake up to a replicated quagmire where the same plot glares us in the face, pricks our follicles and stabs us on the back. Our lack of will to a viable revolution is to say the least. The blind and cheap support we heap on irresponsible political office holders brings to fore the simple proof that we have not learnt to count our losses. We are simply a people waiting for our miserable end in the cycle of our own carelessness as Edmund Burk puts it “those who don’t know history are doomed to repeat it.” Chant this in whichever rhythm that soothes your soul, Africa and Nigeria has come to stay and the sustenance of their glory is on your shoulders; you are part of it!

God bless Nigeria and God bless Africa!

Alpha Enoch Yamush 2018©

Vuli Ndlela

                Life never chooses when to start nor stop. It goes on and halts just when no one is watching. It tells you there is a solid ground beneath your feet and the next minute, you are sinking in your own carelessness. A faint instinct tells you to beat your chest with a braggadocio of ‘no regrets!’ but somehow, your hand freezes in the air. It sees through your ribs, the weight of the shame you inherited, growing at the expense of your dying breath.

             I see it clearly in the darkness, as it strangles his neck into dark scattered wrinkles. He is breathing heavily but not so fast. I hear the heavy tick of each second parting his next breath. Each pause, comes with a sniffing silence that closes the distance between him and breathlessness. Staring at him now, gradually being stolen by the distance to eternity, no nostalgia of his agile days could beckon out to him, make him turn to the widening distance between us and look at me. If it were possible to have him turn, I am sure tears of regret would line down every trace of his wrinkled face, consumed by an endless queue of choices he would have made otherwise.

            The cocks are crowing already and he has been lying down in front of me since the chimes on the clock jingled 12 A.M. Faced up, his legs spread apart on the dusty mat almost loosed to shreds. The horizontal lines appear slacked from their fittings. Only the vertical lines stretched, so that, the mat’s length is still noticed.

             He raises his head slowly to see my dark image buried in the night. ‘You don’t have to say it out, it is all over now.’ I broke out courageously and nodding my head in conformity, all in a bid to man up a little hope in him. He must not know my tears betray me too. Fruitless as this proved, my heavy sniveling punctuated the silence that filled the dark room. ‘Dear Lord! Vuli Ndlela,’ let him rest, I whispered, splashing out little drops of tears that now lingered on my lips.


Alpha E. Y. 2018


            The various perspectives surrounding the herdsmen attacks in Benue, Nasarawa, Southern Kaduna and other regions of the country, calls for quick but rational and retributive attention. This is because, it has thrust some uncanny reactions far out of proportion. Some Nigerians fear the attacks are premeditated to propagate the ‘islamization’ of northern Nigeria and the country as a whole. Others see it as an organized attempt by enemies or oppositions to mock Buhari’s crown over insurgency and insecurity. Some still maintain it is the usual inter-ethnic rivalries common in Nigerian rural areas. As numerous as these thoughts could be, it becomes more complex to filter out a cogent truth that could navigate the hands of adequate responsiveness, towards a lasting solution on the national space. Its corollary also poses cataclysmic threats to us. These insinuations, if not tamed, could set the next flames our innocent troops will be suffering to quench. Worst of all, Nigerians could soon find themselves, touring the gory paths of settling differences, thus: religious, ethnic and political violence. Bearing these repercussions in mind, we cannot romance our national consciousness, into the nonchalance of bypassing the most probable instigator, an old idea of the political class: ‘the Divide and Rule Style’.

               The Divide and Rule style is no doubt the relic that has haunted Nigerians for a period too long to number. It keeps twinkling at punctuated intervals to bring about flashes of misery and the agony that have made life no better than death in our own country. The activities leading from 2012 to 2015 are not farfetched. As we cannot forget in a hurry, it was the problem of faceless boko haram which nicknamed former president G. E. Jonathan: ‘a careless fellow who delivered his own people into the hands of insurgents to be made slaves on their own lands.’ It was further intensified with the allegations that, the high-handed corruption he grappled with loosed hands, crippled the capacity of our military; so that, his success back on seat was not negotiable. These divided Nigerians. The Hausas who were caught in the cross fires made it clear that the Man with the hat must know a thing or two to do with it. Hence, Buhari was the best candidate.

          When Martin Luther King Jr. cautioned that it was better for himself and his comrades to live as brothers than die as fools, it was not just about the senselessness of a ‘black uniting with a black against a black’, he figured out there was a need for nationhood to glue out any form of manipulation by the Dominant Space. However, it is quite unfortunate today, that our borderline of nationhood is porous to the old divide and rule system; as though we have not all suffered from it. The President M. Buhari’s led administration has failed to challenge the very essence of leadership. We all knew the complexities before we voted for the change mantra. Instead, we are ridiculed with lies and blame games, inability to curtail the sufferings of the very man who elected him. The idea of exerting long suffering on the people, as a panacea for a happy ending has only made matters worse for the masses he claims to be representing. We celebrate security in the nation’s capital as though the rural areas enjoy same. The rampage of Fulani herdsmen has continued to gain applause from the incompetence of this administration to protect its citizens. It appears clearly that boko haram has worn a different mask. As we speak today, the security of life and property is still very well threatened. Even worst, the Nigerian social sphere is beginning to suffer wider gaps of divisions as a result of the perceived nepotism of this administration. These are concrete evidences to prove that this administration is guilty of the divide and rule style.

             Draw an analogy of the immediate past and present government and you will see yourself standing in the middle of their cross fires. Like the unpleasantness of an old song to the ears, the words of Luther King Jr. must play into the rhythm of our situation; “it is better for us to live as brothers than die as fools.” The advice of former president, O. Obasanjo, should not be forsaken. The Coalition for Nigeria must be planted against the desertification encroaching on our nationhood. Every breath we take must grow us towards a well-meaning democracy, good governance, social and economic well-being and progress. We cannot underestimate the potency of this remedy as it was long foreseen by Achebe, (2012) as thus:

First we have to nurture and strengthen our democratic institutions…Strive for the freest and fairest elections possible, create a new patriotic consciousness not just one based on the well-worn notion of the unity of Nigeria or faith in Nigeria But rather one based on an awareness of responsibility of leaders to the led on the sacred schools and intellectuals.

When this is done, the bountiful harvest for us and the generation to come will be:

Under such rubric democracy, eligible candidates will find path in the various offices, free press can thrive and thus allowing a strong justice system to flourish. More so checks and balances will accurately find their footings hence it is from such environment that a leader, humbled by the trust placed upon him by the people, will emerge, willing to use the power given to him for the good of the people, (Achebe, 2012).

       On the whole, the divide and rule system is the deadly device that has been used to deny the Nigerian people a befitting livelihood. The incompetence in ensuring the security of lives and property of the past administration is culpable on the present. The political gimmicks only seem to have worn different masks; the agenda of robbing the God-created Nigerian of life still remains. However, we have come to the point where Nationality can no longer be sacrificed on vain alters of cheap popularity and senseless divisions. This we must do by forming a formidable coalition for the love of Nigeria. Where the tie that binds us must not be of blood, religion, empathy nor sympathy, but a pain that means our pain; one that pains us all.

          God bless Nigeria!

Alpha Enoch Yamush




Achebe C. There was a Country New York: Penguin Press. 2012



You own the oil

We tilth the soil

We built the alter

You will the scepter

We say the prayer:

Let every toil by karma repay

‘Amen Lord!’ you answer


Look up to kismet countrymen

With our sweat soaked faces

We shall sniff clear our nostrils

With your watery-spring tongue

You will lick your nostrils

For your hands are too dirty

Nor your face any sweaty


Alpha E. Y. 2018