KAIMA...

I saw the twinkle in his eyes

As I sang the lullaby

He hardly falls asleep

But when he does, it is so deep

Unlike babes of his age

That go on midnight rampage

Crying as though the gods

Whipped mankind with iron rods

Kaima sleeps like a lamb

Wakes up at dawn, smiling and calm

I love to see him laugh

Divides all my problems in half

I love to count his teeth

Ivory white with strands of meat

I do the chewing for him

As he swallows, he will beam

And smile, then giggle

As I sing his favourite jingle

Like the jewel of the morn

Like rays of the morning sun

He shines, sprouting forth

Product of my loins, heaven's warmth

Like the dew in early harmattan

He is rare, unique, my little man

His laughter is pure joy

My infant soon became a boy

Now walking unaided, he runs

And soon learns that fire burns

He learns fast, reading voraciously

Holding the little he understood tenaciously

'Knowledge is power,' I tell him

'Fill your empty cup to the brim'

I was not surprised he could remember

Stories from books he read last December

He grew into a young, bright chap

Handsome, with brain like a map

With a sponge-like mind

He absorbs all he can find

I stepped in, of course

To separate the truth from the false

He did not make friends easily

And prefers to be left alone, usually

The few he made, he kept close

Showed everyone love, often in overdose

I taught him that a drop of honey

Catches more flies, bet money

Than a barrel of vinegar

That salt is as important as sugar

That it is better to have a good name

Than a trailer-load of fame

That the truth never dies

Though sunk in a river of lies

Soon it will surface 

And take its rightful place

I taught him to be grateful for each day

That time is short, life slips away

That he can only be a child once

So he should water the land and plant his corns

That childhood is a gift

That he should save money and spend with thrift

That he should uphold the family name

And never bring us shame

That he should work hard

To become a responsible lad

That he should laugh much and oft

Because it makes the heart merry and the face soft

That it is always good to pray

Since God has the final say

That I will be there for him no matter what

Whether he turns out good or not

© Kelvin Alaneme, 2013. Follow on twitter @dr_alams. 

Email: kelvinalaneme@gmail.com

IFEOLUWA

We grew up together in this neighbourhood

Loved each other more than any two could

I called her Ifem, she called me Nkem

Our love was firm, she was a rare gem

We took every measure, withstood every pressure

Did all we could to safeguard our treasure

Enemies assailed us, but we knew what was at stake

Not a few thought I was making a big mistake

The fact that I was Igbo and she was Yoruba

Did not stop us from going to Calabar

Right there in the heart of Obudu

With hearts full of joy and elated mood

We renewed our promises to each other

To be together forever

In terms of beauty, she was a goddess

Literally speaking, she was a princess

With a slender build and an exquisite physique

A charming face and voice like waterside music

She sets my heart ablaze

And makes other men to craze

My love for her was unquantifiable

Her love for me was indescribable

With her spectacular smile and gentle touch

She tells me over and over again,”I love you very much”

The words of the priest brought me back to reality 

“Let us pray for our sister, Ifeoluwa, who has departed for eternity”

There she lay in the casket, in her marigold gown

With a smile she enters a new dawn

Across her breast a rose lay

My gift to her on Valentine’s Day

She was hit by a stray bullet on her way to my house

I ran to the scene and saw a gaping wound in her blouse

On our way to the hospital, I was imploring her to stay

But she has been badly wounded and was slowly going away

Her last words will forever burn in my heart like a torch

“Nkem,” she mumbled,” I love you…So much”                                           

© Kelvin Alaneme, 2009. Follow on Twitter @dr_alams.

TRAPPED...Part 5.

I heard a loud bang. As I drifted towards wakefulness, I tried opening my eyes. The light from a solitary bulb on my ceiling greeted me. I murmured a silent prayer of gratitude. Another nightmare. The bad dreams had been frequent since Jide's demise. But last night's was so vivid. I had dreamt of my death. 'Being alive is a gift!' I said aloud. The lyrics of a song filtered into my consciousness.

          

          Death is real...It is a drug we'll all take

          Life is just a dream...One day we will wake 

I sat up. My pyjamas was drenched with sweat. The baby started crying. I carried him from the cot and rocked him gently. The crying stopped. I hurriedly prepared another bottle of milk. After feeding him, I bathed him and dressed him up in Vikky's old clothes. I laid him back in the cot. I was taking my bath when I heard a knock on my door. 'Coming!' I shouted, hastening up. When I finally answered the door, it was Mama Tunde. 'Ekaro Ma,' I greeted. 'Ekaro, my daughter,'she responded, smiling. 'Hope the baby allowed you to sleep?' 'Yes,' I replied, running my fingers through the baby's soft hair. 'He was well behaved.'

An hour later, we arrived at the police station. A burly constable was at the front desk. 'Yes? Women, what can I do for you?'he asked. 'I found this baby near a refuse dump at Olaitan street last night,' I began. 'No one could say who dropped him there. So we decided to bring him here and report the matter.' The policeman looked confused. 'Jubril!' he called out to another policeman behind a wooden counter. 'Come hear story o! Hmmm!' He was shaking his head. 'Wetin happen?' Jubril asked. I narrated the previous night's events. 'Haba!' Jubril exclaimed, turning to the other policeman. 'Amodu, e fit be one mad woman born am, come forget am for the refuse dump. E fit still be all these small, small girls wey dey carry belle anyhow. Una go write statement for us,' he said, handing me a sheet of paper with pen.

'We don write statement finish, where we go drop the baby?' Mama Tunde asked Officer Amodu, as I gave him the finished statement. The policeman let out a hearty laugh. 'Drop the baby, kè?' he asked, sarcastically. 'Go and look at the signpost outside. It says Police Station, not orphanage!' Noticing the shock on our faces, he lightened up. 'Look women, what you did was commendable. Heroic. But we don't have the facility to nurse one-week old babies.' He sounded like he was pleading. 'There used to be an orphanage down the street but it was closed down last month.' 'Why?' I asked. He shook his head. 'The owners turned it into a baby factory. They gather teenage girls, get them pregnant, nurse them within the walls for nine months until delivery. After delivery, they sell the children. Male children go for seven hundred thousand naira while the females go for five hundred thousand.' 'And the mothers?' I asked in disbelief. 'They give them between fifty to hundred thousand naira depending on the sex of the baby and their negotiating power. You are paid more if you give birth to a male child,' he concluded, looking towards the window. 

We left the Police Station with the baby. The policemen had promised to contact us whenever they get news of a missing baby matching his description. In my mind's eye, I could see the faces of those teenage girls, passing through the excruciating pains of labour, and handed 'peanuts' afterwards. Their babies, gone. Cruelty in its most inhuman form. Fuelled by poverty. I had seen those walls and the gate to the orphanage. But I never knew what went on behind them.

We entered a bus to Ketu. We located another Motherlesss Babies home. The Proprietress was touched by our story. 'I would have taken him in but for two problems,' she  began. 'One, we have exceeded our capacity. Add that to the fact that funding is becoming difficult.' She sighed. 'Second, our youngest child here is five years. It will be difficult to raise a newborn here. You can bring him back in three years time,'she added. I stormed out of her office, disappointed. 'Wetin you go do now?' Mama Tunde asked me, on our way home. 'I will keep the baby,'I replied, smiling down at the bundle in my arms. 'Till the mother shows up.'

Two weeks passed. The mother did not show up. I had settled into my new role of nursing a newborn. Bathing. Feeding. Changing of diapers. Vikky had returned from my sister's and could not get enough of the new baby. I had simply told her 'He is your little brother.' 'Baby! Baby!' she would scream in her sweet, tiny voice. 'Where is my teddy?' It was a new rhyme she learnt at school. She usually ends the question by touching him in the cot. One day, she asked me,'Mummy, what is Baby's name?' It struck me there and then that I had not named the baby. I thought for some time. 'We will call him Uche...Uchechukwu,' I finally replied. "It means 'the will of God'." The next Friday, I took him to him to the church to be baptized. Nkechi had agreed to be his godmother. He was christened Francis.

'Stella.' I heard someone call my name. I had gone to the hospital to collect my Antiretroviral drugs and to give Baby Uche his six weeks oral polio immunization. 'Stella.' The voice was unmistakable. As I turned, I nearly dropped my handbag. I could not believe my eyes. Standing before me, was Dan, my ex-boyfriend. He was grinning widely. 'Dan!' I screamed, still trying to take it all in. He was looking different. Clad in a white ward coat, with a stethescope around his neck, his name tag read 'Dr. Daniel Olisa.' 'What are you doing in our hospital?' he asked, still smiling. 'I came to collect some drugs,' I replied evasively. 'How come?' I asked, pointing at his outfit. 'Last time I saw you...' My voice trailed off. 'When I left your house in anger?' he asked, breaking into a laugh. 'Stella, it has been eight years. Many things have changed.' His look was penetrating. I looked away. 'I can see you have a new baby,' he said, touching the baby strapped on my back. 'Yes,' I replied, weakly. He had tried to hide it behind the smiles. But I noticed. Looking into his eyes at that instant, I saw pain.