In the home where I come from
Children dance to the grumbling of an empty stomach
we steal smile’s skin
our parents become oceans at the sight of the lakes that journey down our faces.

In the home where I come from
We bath our fufu(s) with the flying aromas from our neighbor’s Kitchen
And let them journey to the land of longing intestines.

In the home where I come from
our clothes are different — they are baskets with myriad holes.
the color of the sky is the length of a standing rain, so
We reflect droplets of mud.

In the home where I come from
our bowl is the size of the earth’s heart
together, our hands are falling graces.

In the home where I come from
our eyelashes are separated by the hymning of the birds, the crowing of the cocks, and the confectionary taste of dongoyaro
our teeth tell our history.

In the home where I come from
girls kiss the soil and wake up firewood with their voices
their waist beads dance to the view of blazing fire
their curves twirl – at the sound of a steaming Gbegiri soup.

In the home where I come from
men are hunted by hungry animals
and their lips flute songs of victory
or is it sorrow?

– Agboola Abidemi Kaothar