The Kayayei's Tale Poem by John Agandin

I walk my beat in cities, markets-
under a perspiring sun.
From Tamale to Kejetia,
Techiman to Takoradi-
Accra my home base:
Nima, Mallam Atta,
Agbogbloshie, Makola-
I am there.
Head pan in hand,
I tread markets and bus stations.
From six to six-rain or shine-
I carry other people's loads.
They walk behind me,
watching, anxious,
while I shout and nudge through the crowds,
lest I be lost with their goods.
And when I arrive-
they begrudge me my wage.
—
Foxes have holes.
Birds have nests.
But I-
a daughter, a mother-
have none.
I make my bed in borrowed spaces,
where weary pillows give no rest,
and sleep escapes me.
I am prey to mosquitoes
and all blood-sucking creatures.
Unscrupulous men lurk in the dark
to plunder my purse and womanhood,
and leave me
a mother with a double load.
—
Shop-owners scowl at me.
Drivers curse.
Shoppers call me what they please-
until they need my head
to carry what they will not.
I am paraded at rallies,
head pan raised like proof
that I am nothing without it.
—
How would you know?
You-
the scowler, the curser, the labeler,
the gentleman, the politician, the big man-
I would have you know:
I am not-
I become.