Dry season child,

Of the clime not mild,

When winds whip up mini sandstorms,

Rattling trees with glee.

Their leaves dancing to the ground

Stripped of their verdant gloss.

Dry season child,

Why do you arm yourself with poles and

Pockets bulging with rocks

Shooting down every living thing that

From the nodding agama lizard

To the lordly kites which soar overhead.

Dry season child,

The mango and citrus trees are not safe
from you,

The mercenary red armies and pikes are no
match for the artillery and siege weapons you have

All the ripe fruits lay at your feet

Why then do you insist on plucking the
unripe ones at the crown of the tree?

Greed is often the victor of wars.

Dry season child,

Mama was here

In her hands were her slain fowls

Innocent victims of your target practice.

Oh the sitting ducks were too large to

Why then do you insist on maiming half-grown

Dry season child

Christmas will be here soon

If you behave yourself I will get you a new
toy gun,

New clothes and a lot of fun.

Don’t let me catch you running after
Togbe’s goats

Or you’ll be wearing rags of your coats.

Dry season child

You were born in a time of hardship renewal.

Ananse’s kin,

You must not shed this skin.

For the concrete jungle that is the city.

You must be a wily gentleman.


Dry season child,

What will I do with you?

When you lay cloths at my feet,

You have braved the city,

That is no mean feat.

I am proud of you.

©Sena Kodjokuma, 2013