Salla Kama Sallay Poem by Moses Kainwo

Sallay kama sallay!
Bosway! Bosway!

Sallay kama sallay!
Bosway! Bosway!

Sallay kama sallay!
Bosway! Bosway!

Palm fronds in the sun
Have catapulted the earth dirt into the eyes,
In Wilkinson Road—in broad daylight:
As if to construct anger and rage
In slow-moving cars,
In Wilkinson Road—in broad daylight!

But no!
There is beauty in the horizon
Shining like sea in the road,
Wilkinson Road—in the year of jubilee:

And the blast of laughter from old cars
Will level with speed
The mountain of wastepaper journals
Flying out of car windows,
In Wilkinson Road—a road changing direction by the hour:
The Chinese gift of road jigsaws
To Salone.

And control of the road,
Of everything;
Is sometimes lost to cars and headless drivers,
Who fail to see the beauty of the road ahead.

It is hoped that jubilee will breed joy,
When enemies of progress
Shall seal their lips and pockets
And become converts to friends of progress;

And we will forget to play the game of chess,
At the violet hour:
And the expression man butu man wach
Or Dem say Bailor Barrie
Yu say Davidson Nicol?
Shall be deleted from our memory cards
And in a couple of months
The women will dropp their catwalk
For a salute from those men
Who salute women’s hips:
But such men will now see the grace
That gave birth to precious hips.

And in a couple of months,
There will be water supply
For all on the edges of great waters—in the city;
And in villages where villagers drown the waters,
In the old old forests.

Give us a couple of months
And Bumbuna will begin to visit certain towns and villages,
Before travelling abroad for foreign exchange.

And in a couple of months,
The differently-abled persons
Will forget the farmhouses of the past,
Where they were abandoned for another purpose:
In Wilkinson Road—in broad daylight.

And in a couple of months
The mothers will show greater care for their babies,
And still be in the fifty-fifty game,
In honour of precious deadlines.

And in a couple of months,
All NGOs will honestly justify
Their income in line with the work they say they do.
In Wilkinson Road.
Oh Salone,
What a price you are paying for development!

And even now,
No new sect will filter itself into the system,
And say they are a Church or Mosque:
For fire shall fell
On Churches and Mosques that visit from hell,
And save the nation from obscurantism;
Of isms from all schisms.

And in a couple of months,
And the newly-found black gold
Will not displace the weak from the land that they love,
But honour them well-deserving rewards:
At the dawn of engagement…

And the new MP shall love to write his name,
In consonance with their alma mater,
To prompt them—before the violet hour.

Yes! Yes! Yes!
This rhythm of progress must this go on,
Till late comers report for duty!

If independence means severance from dependence in a new jacket,
Then this must go on!

If God did make men and women equal,
With a mandate to reproduce their kind,
Taking cognizance of population size,
Then this must go on.

If the head boys and head girls will not betray the nation,
In the year of jubilee,
Then this must go on!

If parents will not wear their children’s trousers,
In the year of jubilee,
To distract celebrants,
Then this must go on!

If the academic giants will not sell their birthrights,
For a plate of foofoo,
In the year of jubilee,
Then this must go on!

If the Athens of West Africa
Will wake up from sleep,
In this precious year of jubilee,
Then this must go on!

If civil servants will stop dreaming
Of wusay dem tay kaw na de i go it,
Then this must go on!

If Church leaders will stop fighting each other
From corners of unholy testimonies,
Then this must go on!

If black friends of state
Will stop taking black messages to State House,
Like those black birds in the violet hour,
Then this must go on!

If the tribes will unite,
And forget their tribal agendas,
In a new dance involving all,
Then this must go on!

If citizens still in chain
Can allow themselves to be liberated,
In the dawn of the jubilee,
Then this must go on!

If children will heed the thought that cheating in exams
Is a wrong start for the workplace,
Then this must go on!

This nation needs a potion
That will make dry bones come alive,
A potion that will make tasty flesh become sour—
In the mouths of vultures;
So those vultures can fly away to the land of no return.

We have the potion that will add flesh and spirit and life
To Wallace Johnson,
Who will come with a pen filled with blood,
From cowards, to rewrite our constitution.

This nation has that potion
That will kill loneliness born to marriages,
Contracted in holy houses.

So let the fire of purification fall and shake everything bone,
Let the fire fall and soften hearts of stone:
And unnamed roses will salute the rising stars,
In the maturing star of a nation.

Sallay kama sallay!
Bosway! Bosway!