Ode To B.J Azang Poem by Tony Adah

In the abyss
Of hope lost
And in the valley
Of darkness
Life tossed him
From the luminance of yore
To the blindness
Of that day that
He sojourn away from
The surly bounds of this earth.

He, he was who taught us the angelus
He, he was who taught pater noster
He drove us shin beaten by dews
Early morning to the chilly stream
Where few of us took our bath
And others feign a bath
Stale smelling to school.

He built the dispensary
Where we first saw the whiteman
With his tender hands
Palpating the village folks
For signs of sleeping sickness.

Where B.J Azang lived
No one knew
What he ate
No one cared
Only he knew
What he drank

When life wore him
An insignia of death
Many trouped to
His derelict house
To see an old wooden box
Of roaches wngs
Mixed with bits of old papers
Mangled by ants
Two hard to chew papers endure
The jaws of rats, roaches and termites.

Some old teacher with thick glasses
Took the funeral oration
And mentioned two certificates
As the london GCE and the royal
Society of arts
The mourners yelped
And applauded the man gone
When his deeds too came to the fore
Others yawn
Shaking their heads, yearning to cry.