My abode is the Delta. I was carved from its timber, old, strong and un-withered.
Until a creek has to be crossed, or islands to be hopped, I stay quiet, moored and tied in ropes of jute to my master’s private jetty- a jetty of rough planks hewn from the delta’s mangroves.
Both night and day, the dancing waves of the creek toss me up and down,
yet I dare not complain, ‘cos this place is my stay.
No sleep for my eyes and no food for my intestines, till I am used to the full: till my grains break away, soaked in the salty fluid of this rich delta.
I am it, the dug-out canoe, and this is my home- the Niger Delta.