As I hurried with the basket of food over my head
in the direction of the farm, I imagine the scene awaiting me:
Students scattered across acres of yam mounds
Some tilling, others weeding, the majority (girls)
carrying weeds further off the farmland to be burnt
I arrive, after a long walk towards the outskirts of the village where our farms are found, having greeted tons of elders and relatives on motors, bicycles and foot
Some sitting idly on benches under trees beside the road
Seems an occupation they devoutly practice daily – idly gossiping about anything there is to
On the farm, I’m greeted by the head of a cobra,
Roasting in a gentle fire lit by students
The atmosphere lit with jubilant echoes
Just as I had predicted, the farm was alive with activities
A more familiar face among the familiar faces recounted how they trapped the snake and were waiting for the expert cooks to have it roasted into an afternoon snack to ginger the workers
I shiver at the sight of the reptile lying on the farm floor like a fallen angel
I scan the farm and spot the person I was sent to
“Mother says this is for you, and that is for the rest.”
I indicate, retiring to the shade of a tree to enjoy the colorful scenes
Mowabites Worldwide 