Creative Writings Poetry 

Papa, where were you? when we Trekked to school; no sandals nor shoes

    PAPA WHERE WERE YOU (To all run-away Fathers)   For the years we were fed with hunger And starved with food, For the years we celebrated Christmas With mere white rice Having no single touch of stew Papa, where were you?   Where were you when for miles We trekked to school, Paraded the coal mines Barefooted; no sandals nor shoes   My uniforms were worn out New ones mama couldn’t brew My classmates ditched out Threads of mockery, and made me a spool It was unbearable So…

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Books Editorial Opinions Poetry 


  By Chinua Achebe     No Madonna and Child could touch that picture of a mother’s tenderness for a son she soon would have to forget. The air was heavy with odours of diarrhoea of unwashed children with washed-out ribs and dried-up bottoms struggling in laboured steps behind blown empty bellies. Most mother’s there had long ceased to care but not this one; she held a ghost smile between her teeth  and in her eyes the ghost of a mother’s  pride as she combed the rust-coloured  hair left on…

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