All posts by nyonglema

I love to write to inspire, to salvage and to heal. I believe there's power in word and language that can cure all the ills which take away human love an life. Keep reading, you'll find yourself.

Rush #late #hurry #homeSick

I’m dreaming of a melody
Pulling me from sleep’s safe haven.
“Ding ding la-la ding” it sings
And my eyes seek the screen to swipe-to-snooze
But then the phone rings:
“Your lift is here sir”

What??4am already????
Quick, throw my underwear off,
Rush, pee, Brush
Turn the shower knob to wash
It’s cold! It’s hot! Too cold, not quite hot. Ok
Gel on the face cloth
Scrub, scrub, counting seconds in my head.
Rush, rush. Lotion. Deodorant.
Throw on my gear in haphazard layers.
No belt, won’t do my laces.
Rush, rush: I just can’t miss this flight home!

(c) Nyonglema

My Love #love

Soft the silky sheath in which God clothed your bones,
And sweet the smooth rich notes of your vocal tones
Whose content muses seek.
Oh! My heartbeat’s at its peak
When you’re near with your personality of scones.

(c) Nyonglema

Let’s Get Rich #bokoHaram #alShabab #fakeIslam #fakeJihad #crime

Hey! Let’s go out there on a killing spree,
And loot, kidnap and fill our kitchen shelves
With bills from nations here and across the sea,
And diamonds, then weapons to protect ourselves.

Let’s find a bush wherefrom we’ll buzz then sting
And create routes through nobody could think
And in stealthy style steal their everything
Then plant scare as blood and powder stink.

Let’s mourn our dead as war counts their heads,
And hunt more silly heads to fill their beds
But how to go by this, despite the dread?
We must find a solution to keep earning this juicy bread.

Aha! Jihad’s incentive enough for youth to care:
Doing Allah’s work or risk His wrath for million years,
But to do His work means sweet blessings here
And paradise awaits after they’ve pulled your bier.

So say it loud, say it to the young and old:
“Fight for Allah as sacrifice or till you’re cold!”
But show them not our harems and stash of gold
For doubt could reduce the men in our hold.

(c) Nyonglema

Jesus’s thoughts on Racism

Forget not Matthew 7: 3

What can you do with a speck?
Well, you can polish it and look good.
You can point it out, shout loud out let the world see how righteous you are and look good.
You can create a ban round the speck with others who saw the speck, and heck, you can change that part of the world and look good.

Even the stars can see the speck, no doubt
But is it really the Pareto choice with most clout?

I grew on tales of the evil white man with his long nose.
I grew reminded I'm a "nigger" and the whips will crack on my back, seize my foothold, banish my dreams, and tears pouring out my flat nose.
I grew on the black-washed history of the transatlantic slavery which tells of the buyer and torturer of my brothers for centuries and more.

I didn't hear of the North African slave trade, nor the Congo-Ghana one,
Nor the fact that "lenwa" in my village is a slave.
I didn't hear that Africans sold Africans for slavery but through Christian abolishment they earned better lives
I didn't hear that Eddie Murphy lives a better life than most Cameroonians, or that Lupita Nyongo won't have the same chances had she stayed on the continent.

I grew on the falsehood that a "nigger" like me cannot be racist
And that "White man, white man, white man with his long nose"
Is just fun as "Black man, black man, black man with his flat nose"
Would be.

Then I learnt that "nigger" is a bad word I learnt to rap to.
Then I learnt that I would be nothing, I would not get a job because of my skin colour.
Then I learnt that the white families who welcomed me didn't exist.
That my white friends were actually blacks in disguise...otherwise how could they be my friends?

And I shut my ears and eyes.

For while all were focusing on the speck of reparations
(Which should be paid only to children of slaves, by the buyers and
The African countries who committed the abomination of trading
Humans for whisky, guns and other silly gimmicks)
I'm looking at the plank of single parenthood,
Erosion of any viable belief system or value system
Widespread corruption, poor governance,
Electoral fraud, business fraud, educational fraud
Victim mentality and "reverse" racism...if such a word exists.

Racism is racism, and to see black and white and yellow and red and blue and purple on human skins is to be in a race on mushrooms.

I see one humanity, striving to make the present better than the past.
Striving to make this present prosperity pervasive and make it last.

(c) nyonglema

Once I held a gun #childSoldiers #stopWar

Once I held a gun in the bush.
That Ak47 was nearly my size but I lifted it.
I was fierce and fearless to my foes,
Taking their lives before they could reach for mine.

Yes, once I killed in the bush;
The men who protected their villages,
The women who protected their children,
The children who would avenge their orphan state.

At that time I was a hero in the army
So decorated by war wounds and scars
That pain became the objective of my existence
And transmitting it my only medicine.

Now I’m 16 years old and peace has killed the need for guns.
My grades and skill set mean nothing.
All left is the emptiness in the memories of maimed men,
Mothers, and children.What to do now?

AH…Once I was told taking lives was the life I needed,
But now I know there was much more to hope for.

Much more to aim AT than innocent targets in the bush

(c) Nyonglema

The Superior Race #racismSucks

So, which of the races rules over all
In quality, strength and crazy potential?
And how shall we distinguish this lot?
By skin? Hair?Gait? Manner of speech and thought?

Shall we find these noble ones and crown them
And give authority over the scum to their men?
Well in my search for the superior blood,
I’ve combed pages, heard ideas from myriad cords

And in conclusion all criteria are but earthly classification
Of something deeper in different forms of creation.
So to hell with your theories new, old, and your nays and nods,
The superior race is the race to God.

(c) Nyonglema

The Soldier’s Wife #stopWar

It’s 9pm and the cell phone sings a tune.
She swipes to green to accept the call:
“Who calls so late?” The answer tells of misfortune.

There’s silence as she relives the bullets he received,
Calling for help in gargles on the battlefield
And dropping in the smoky marshes to join the deceased.

Silence as she shakes the thought and thinks of a plan.
Resurrection? Cloning? Parallel universes?
Silence as she seeks retaliation for the death of her man.

The buzz on the line doesn’t take her mind of it,
As she sees her life and his as a silent flick
Rushing in her brain, rambling and troubling in quiet.

Silence as she feels her pulse rise uncontrolled,
And darkness falls as her thud slams the ground,
And the receiver crashes out of her lifeless hold.

(c) Nyonglema

Mum #mother #RIP

As a little boy, I wondered why I have a mum.
All she did was shout when I was gaming;
Whip me when the VHS entertained me;
Slap me when with friends we played crazy;
Force me to make up our room;
Keep me away from my darling TV.

But as I got older, I now know why I miss my mum.
What she really did was teach me discipline;
Tell me to focus on priorities;
To choose friends wisely, cherish friendship,
To keep my life in order no matter what
And to love what I have, while dreaming of what I could be.

She brought peace when we threw punches,;
She brought delicious meals at dinners and lunches;
She cheered loudest at success, and consoled my failures.
The cohesion felt when the mum gathers her chicks
Fades away when her time is done on earth.
So now I know why I had a mum,
But how will she know I wish she wasn’t gone?

(c) Nyonglema

Sacrifice #Ebola #nurse #doctor #Liberia #SierraLeone

Dedicated to the soldiers in the Ebola fight: all Liberia, Sierra Leone, Guinea nurses and doctors, and international volunteers. Below some names of soldiers alive or dead who’ve helped our humanity in no particular order:
Pauline Cafferkey, Abraham Borbor, Samuel Brisbane, Victor Willoughby, Diana Sarteh, Teresa Romero Ramos

__________________________________

The alarm growls “Wake up!” in song into her sleeping ears
As slowly she opens brown blood-shot eyes
To swipe upwards at the pulley menu on the buzzing screen
To dismiss the noise and jump out of warmth into ice
Cold morning brings to her bones with draughty jeers.

Off into the cold she drags her tired body.
Off to the hospital where she spends long days and nights,
Fighting death in guerrilla battles – some she’d win
Some would come back as knife-sharp nightmares and fright-
As she cared for the mildly sick and critically sick bodies.

“Today is special though” her fear-stricken heart surmises
As she walks in and switches apparel and goes working.
Today’s different: the heat in the astronaut gear;
The multiple scrubs; the care to take everywhere you’re walking;
The hope…no….prayer that your bit suffices to grow survivors;

Living the working day through a visor: Different.
This deadly virus vying for plague of the millennium
By bringing entire families to the pier of the Styx,
Fills the ward where she must administer care and calm delirium,
While calming her pulse enough that she would be efficient.

Can they hear her heart beat? Can they smell her fear?
Just a drop from the wrong spot on her exposed skin
And she’d join them here without the white armour,
Swinging on the balance of life from a kinked shoe string,
Unable to bring the love that brought her here.

Yes. She knows it might be over at any time:
Her ardour, her love, her care, her own piece
To the fight against the miniscule giant threat.
But she takes up her arms to fight the disease,
A soldier of love giving new hope to the living and the dying.

(c) Nyonglema

Thoughts while on the plane #flying #plane #airport #aeroplane #takeOff #frequentFlyer

– I –
Alu tube wings stretched on the ground,
Eyes turned outside to the turbine’s sound.
Then the dash,
And in a flash
We are happy birds casting disdain on the ground

– II –
Little littered specks amidst human nests
Without a rustle just lying on their breasts.
Each time I stare in wonder
Of what thoughts they ponder
These birds with human beings in their chests.

– III –
What’s that tremor? What does that light mean?
Why are we tilting? Why the sudden lean?
Why’s my heart with Vettel?
My palms a morning petal?
Love, hold me as we traverse this blue screen.

(c) Nyonglema