Son Of The Woman Who Carried Cartons And Carried Destiny Poem by Tony Cemaluk

She did not hire hands,
She became the hands.

Carton upon carton,
From that one-room store -
The only inheritance her husband left,
Not gold, not lands in excess,
But provision. And vision.

Morning saw her at Eke, Afor, or Nkwo,
All Igbo market days baring Oye without base within Ojoto and Umuoji.

Evening saw her on the road trudging home,
Cartons kissing her head-tie,
Sweat anointing her wrapper,
Pride stitched to her sole.

'Why not hire a barrow man? '
They asked.

She answered with footsteps -
Step and pace, increased
Each step a savings,
Each sweat a school fee,
Each pace a pacesetter novel,
Each carton a covenant:
'School is your father.'

She carried Milo, she carried faith,
She carried Bournvita, she carried tomorrow,
On that head that refused to bend in bow.

O! What a sight -
Nwanyi ka nwoke, lean like whip but stout like soldier,
Ochie dike with cartons for crown,
Trading not just goods,
But trading grief for grit.

She carried us,
Before we knew we were being carried.

And each market road still remembers the rhythm
Of the Amazon who refused help,
So her son would never need help.

I AM CEMALUK - son of the woman who carried cartons and carried destiny.