This is a tale
Maybe folklore, maybe not
About the rest of us
Daddy and Ada had been schooled
In the village
In reality it was just four walls
Bamboo in summer
Thick thatch in the rainy season
To keep the rain out for about a hour
Enough time for foreign alphabets
To be imbibed by play deprived children
It is not clear whether Chidinma too
Schooled in the village
Ihiala meant better times and maybe
A better school
Lagos saw even better times
The private school, the baby boy heir-apparent
The new car and apartment
When it rained in Nigeria
It was louder in the city
Because all the houses were closely packed
Because all the houses had tin roofs
Because all the tin roofs resounded the rain with
With reckless abandon; joyous indifference
We were sitting on the balcony
Listening to the sound of the rain; our pulses
Reverberating the rhythm
When daddy asked the question
That began the exclusion
‘How does one light a fire in the rain?’
Ada answered
Muttering some phrase about dry wood and so on
Daddy nodded his consent
We carried on listening
There are certain things you don’t learn
Within the four walls of school
‘Bush Education’, daddy calls it
We exchanged looks – the rest of us
Because nobody told us
Because nobody told the rest of us
We carried on listening
Pretending to be captivated
By the rivulets that had formed.
Written by Oluchi
Follow on twitter @Mizz_starzz
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