The home I remember,
Was in a town called Kaduna.
There was succour for every member.
A mixture of all tribes in Nigeria.
Hearts were filled with love for neighbours.
Children were allowed fun times,
With no fear of Mr Cyber.
The streets were our play ground.
We moved only for the few cars that came by.
We walked to Mama Iyabo for a spoon of pepper.
Ngozi’s mother sold us sweets and sugar.
I remember papa’s nights spent with friends drinking lager.
His days climbing work’s ladder.
Mama’s mornings spent dressing the kids.
Her afternoons cooking for papa, Isa and me.
Her evenings doing homework with us.
Papa admired, loved and respected mama.
He knew her sacrifice was greater.
Mama admired, loved and respected papa.
She knew every day, he worked harder.
There was no need to prove to the other who was greater.
Money was just an object, another medium of exchange.
Boys were boys and girls were girls.
We knew nothing of the sins of Rwanda or Vegas.
Nothing of corruption or poverty.
Media was weak,
Afew were murderers,
Unborn were terrorists.
While we were clueless,
Living day to day simply,
Seeds were being planted,
Watered and nutured.
By whom, ask me not.
There was honor in our town.
But times are changed.
People in this age,
Know nothing but rage.
Their hearts filled with hate.
For the seeds yesterday sown,
Are today grown.
Images credit: Jemimah Abimbola’s blog. Visit to learn more about Kaduna. https://www.tolet.com.ng/blog/10-beautiful-places-in-kaduna-state/