Oil Wails
(Port Harcourt, January 2016. For the fear of “educated militancy” in the Niger Delta)
The price I pay for peace is too great, 
the price I pay is a disgrace.

Do I,
 wail my wails to the whales, 
or listen to your fairy tales?
I am here,
carrying my file to join every file, searching for ghostly jobs.

You say I am not schooled,
but I stand before you a Master: Master of Papers.
Tell me why, 
I should not buy a gun, 
and swap it for monthly pay?

Or should I rather, 
give back the guns you shared, 
in the creeks during your campaign?

If Ebi*, good Ebi, 
is paid as a militant, why shouldn’t I be?
The price I pay for peace is too great, 
the price I pay is a disgrace.

Do I,
stand still and watch, 
like Rio’s lifeless Jesus**?
Dagogo is there, 
building his third mansion from a white man’s ransom.

You know that this Delta is ill,
Yet I stand before you, a Doctor: Doctor of Coloured Papers.
Tell me why 
I should not cook sweet crude 
so that Mama could eat food?

Or should I rather 
close my eyes when I see you, 
shut the chiefs’ mouths with Naira notes?

If a battalion, armed battalion 
guards one expatriate, why shouldn’t they me?
The price I pay for peace is too great, 
the price I pay is a disgrace.

Because I, 
wail my wails to the whales, 
as you own all the oil wells.
My brothers are here, 
killing themselves with your gun; my kinsmen are on the run

You think I am fooled,
but I stand before you a Freeman, free from all your deceit!
Tell me why 
I should not torment the creeks, 
as our rivers no more have fish?

Or should I rather 
sing your praise in the streets 
because you promised to make me rich?

If a bullion van, 
an armoured bullion van 
negotiate my free speech, why shouldn’t I decline?

(*an Ijaw name meaning “Good”

**a statue of Christ The Redeemer on a mountain in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, overlooking the city

Being in Port Harcourt in 2016 was scary. Delays in renewing Oil Mining Licenses, a new brand of militancy and other factors led to losses of jobs and increasing restiveness, I listened as I walked the streets and could hear the fear of people of the possibility of militancy by the educated, and I captured the fears in a poem. A couple of months later, that fear materialised. )

Your support is appreciated

I’m sure you enjoyed your experience here and would like to make a kind donation to me. Thank you, in advance!

READ ALSO

www.effiongsamuel.art-zabeebah
Flowers are for the birth of love:Bouquets thrown for others to catch That they may...
8b461934-a4f0-4e1b-ba25-d085fe7d7b7b
By chance, you flew as time and tide comply a dance of wings in colour-strangled...
pexels-tatiana-time-fly
Innocently the clock sits still like a studentThe ‘seconds’ hand ticks past the minuteThe minute...
pexels-pixabay-web-of-life
(…for Ogbonnaya Agwu and his irreplaceable loss. December 2015) It was just a simple phrase...
chinua achebe
Of what use is the pen when the ink is dry? Why should I hide...
effiongsamuel.art-termite-mound-pixabay
Yesterday a bare land stood Beneath it, a zeal the future dares Today a castle...
0 0 votes
Article Rating
Subscribe
Notify of
guest
0 Comments
Most Voted
Newest Oldest
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments
0
Would love your thoughts, please comment.x
()
x