Sombre reflection in paradise

Those days, when

The roar of the Lion Mountain would be
heard in the whole world
and the echoes would be felt in the veins of the nearest
neighbours

Those days, when

Sierra Leone would play, dance, sing and sleep in green
grass
after her travail on the virgin land of her ancestors

She would play, dance, sing and sleep with green snakes
that would drag themselves to the listless banjo-players
who would execute their artistic adroitness under the
baobab tree
where everyone would sit around a wild fire telling their
yarns

Those days, when

Innocent children would play hide-and-seek
while the moon would shine on their innocent lives
and the fireflies would illuminate their
lives when the moon disappeared in the horizon of ambiguity
and their mothers would shout them into their beds
having seen the night running into daybreak

Those days, when

When women were women and desired by men who deserved them
and men would cherish women clad in lappas or minis
whilst women would desire men in Gun Mots or Prins Nicos

Those days, when

Sierra Leone would lick her last fingers more than four
times a day
while greedy outsiders would envy mama Salone for
her vigour, love, underground riches
and everything that made a being human

These days, when

We clamour for the sun to throw light again into our
paradise
and long for the sun to light up our hopes,
empty endeavours, and displeasures

These days, when

We dance and sing for the sun day in day out
to brighten our roads and journeys
to the belly of Sierra Leone

These days, when

The licking of the last finger is no-longer square
in a large part of Sierra Leone but
a frequent happening in a selected part
of Sierra Leone where sticky behemoths
live on the empty purses of the
penurious children of Lion Mountain

These days, when

The cruel blades of our ancestors
seldom pierce through the determined sacred
place of our women.

Should we regret its gradual demise
of those cruel blades
or pray that it comes back to
shatter the future delight of our children
while we continue to cherish empty
nostalgia of enforced cruelty of those days?

These days, when

Guns and machetes which are carried by
many with accustomed ease
drive away the cohesion that held us together
and with unkind relish eat like a hungry
lion into the fabric of societal lazy Mama Lion

Today,

The sun scorches our houses, hopes, endeavours, pleasures
and throws dust on our roads and journeys
and leads us to hungry Sierra Leone
where suspicious global teeth gnaw at the
long cherished joie de vive of mama Salone

Will the sun ever stop letting the green grass
from withering and bring back those days when
Sierra Lyoa wallowed in blissful prosperity?

By Mohamed Kunowah-Tinu Kiellow, The Netherlands.

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