Abiyu Abdullahi Jibia: If You Ask Me…

If You Ask Me…

If you ask me about the ways of our ancestors I shall tell you: I don’t know

I was born when No tales were told No whispers across the fence.

No stories by the fireside or yelling & laughter of children Returning from the village stream.

I don’t know the ancient hunting relics, The spear, the bow and arrow.

Nor do I know my great grandfather I have only seen his wooden pipe.

I was in my teens when the last relic, the old hut in the market square was removed.

Not by rain storm or tornadoes nor the raging whirlwind But by an old caterpillar.

My father has a living room a camp bed and a racket At lunchtime, we eat macaroni.