WE DON'T TALK ABOUT...

We don't talk about the man with five hungry mouths and a pregnant wife to feed.

We don't talk about the boy hunting snails
in the cocoa farms of Ogan.

We don't talk about the mad woman with a babe on her back, eating rubbish.

We don't talk about the people of Idumuoza who
Last saw electricity about 10 years ago.

We don't talk about the man who drank away all his wealth and is left a copy of his betting ticket and a tardy English.

We don't talk about the  men who know the salaries of all footballers at the kai Kai store.
The idle mind is a haven for thoughtless thoughts.

We don't talk about my grandma who calls our pastor's wife mummy.

We don't talk about our bishop who lives in a furnished dream.

We don't talk about our people who live in makeshift  nightmares.

We don't talk about the old man with 10 sons and a pocket filled with war tales at your gate.

We don't talk about the officer on the high way at the mercy of gentlemen... He has 3 sons. We only talk about the 20naira he collects.

We don't talk about the daily scuffles between the drivers at Benin park. They just want some green for their children.

We don't talk about the little girl with tear stained eyes filled with desperation holding on to your arm as you shake it off with a scowl at ringroad.

We don't talk about the girl with four heartbreaks and five abortions. She's a bitch you say? She is really bad at making bad decisions.

We don't talk about the arguments we have with the crayfish seller with veiny hands under the umbrella that barely serves as covering. We haggle with her until she is resigned to losing the little profit she would have had because she is scared of not selling anything for the day.

We don't talk about the big eyed boy with holes in his shorts and a dumped tyre as means of transport.

The only long distance journey he has ever taken is a trip to and fro mama mayowa's blow-blow shop with his tyre and stick.

We don't talk about the pimply girl with a tray on her head a big tummy in front.

We don't talk about Ike who last called home five years ago. He went to Libya.

We don't talk about his sister Ize who died of prostitution in Italy.

We don't talk about Pa. Magnus whose main prayer point in church is a life overseas to make money.

We don't about my church Jesus is my Backbone ministries, one of the many shrines around that has successfully turned my people to mindless fanatics who believe that brooms can kill demons and a year of fasting and sitting at home can buy you a Rolls Royce.

We don't talk about the beautiful birds singing at your window.

We talk about how bad our shoes are, umaru has no feet.

We don't talk about the two hands we have to build our dreams. Some don't.

We don't talk about a lot.

Where is the love?

If we all light up we can scare away the dark.

©Kwubei Prestige Ife