The Ubangi

Muamba froths on the pot,
The best palm nuts in the region are in there,
Being married to that simple farmer had it’s benefits,
Had it’s benefits.
Everyone else is down at the shore of Ubangi…
Saying it is a good time not to be in the city,
After angry men rushed to kill simple men and rape girls who were yet to be women, beautiful women, ugly women, grieving women.
And she, is late.

A woman never rushes,
Mother used to say,
She must be grounded like the reed that sways and bends as Ubangi rushes.
Women who rush are like the broken reeds helpless against the rapids.
Which is true because as she fell dead,
Ubangi was not rushing as she carried her.
Ubangi has brought news that it is now safe to return to our homes,
But the PA system is of bad quality, very loud and very much lying.

Because Our houses remain,
But they are the homes of others,
Our farms remain,
But they are the harvest of others,
Our towns remain,
But they are cities of others,
Our pains remain,
But they are the lessons of others,
Muamba tastes better in the evening,
Her son used to say.

AmarePoeta

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