African people at a protest.
Photography by Ololade Moshood Olawale

When I drank in Lokoja,
A little taste of Niger, a little taste of Benue;
A little salty taste of Deltas where
You kissed the ocean.

This exotic taste we named Nigeria;
Upon your banks, we behold our beauty
In clean ripples,
Now my parched throat seeks your Rivers.

I sought my face to no avail,
It’s red like a spring from hell.
Niger tastes bloody,
Benue tastes of death,

Deltas taste of pillage, spillage.
What shall I call this taste?
What shall I give my thirsty heart?
What shall I call these rivers from
Whence giants once drank?
Ah, they’ve painted Niger- area
with our brothers’ blood.

I'm a Nigerian poet, and an upcoming writer. My work has been published at Noctivagant press, University of North Carolina press, America Diversity Report, and others are forthcoming at Decolonial Passage. I enjoy history, and philosophy.

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