@ekalu28@gmail.... 4 min read Write a comment #poem-poetry

Wedlock Of Ignorance

A dramatic poem...MAN: “Let him cry open-mouthed to the rain; Let the sickly child die for all I care;

“Let him cry open-mouthed to the rain
Let the sickly child die for all I care.
It is the same herb that healed my father of paralysis…
It was the same herb that healed my father’s father of pneumonia.
Now it has become powerless in the stomach of this wicked child
Nkoli, my dear wife.
Let him cry open-mouthed to the rain
Inside his stomach resides a demon
That fights back medication and cure
He has chosen to be unwell
Let him cry open-mouthed to the rain.”
(Man walks to the door — halted by wife’s voice).

“My husband, Ikenna is your child
He is not the captain of his own misfortune
He is not the cause of his own predicament.
It is not him —
It is not him
That took pepper from the mortar and put it in his own eyes.
My husband, our child is crying for mercy and not for judgment. Please!”

“Woman, your head is not good!
You call this… canker worm; a child?
My life’s savings
Fifty thousand Naira* worth of herbs
Thrown into this bottomless cesspit.
Now woman, don’t let my anger
Rise like the Osimini* on Tuesdays
Go into the kitchen
Get a rag and swaddle this DEBRIS.
I’m going to the evil forest
To dispose of him…”
(Woman screaming and sobbing!)

He is your blood
He is your own blood!”

“Woman, you like to be emotional
About everything even the thing of saving your life from a hopeless venture.
If I dispose of him
We’ll put our money into something more meaningful rather than;
Curing this incurable bastard.
Don’t you see?”
(Man asks enquiringly)

“See what my husband?
See that you’re disposing of your own son
(Woman Sobs)
Don’t be cruel, my husband
He is your blood
He is your own blood.”
(Woman sobs!)

I know where the kitchen is
And I can help myself.”
(Man dashes into the kitchen)

“My husband!
Please temper justice with mercy
He is crying for help and not for mercy
He is your blood and not your excreta.
He is Ikenna
He is your son”

“Shut up woman!
Your mouth is full of foolishness.
Next time;
Next time, I put my sperm in you
Let it form a child not an alien.”
(Man dashes out)
(Woman sobs uncontrollably)
(Lights out)******

As I watch this playlet on the theatre’s stage..
I didn’t think about who was right or wrong.
Nkoli or Nkoli’s husband.
Tho’ the child’s sickness is not a fault of theirs.
Nkoli was an SS and her husband an AS

They literally beckoned on doom
They had different genotypes and were not supposed to marry each other.
Who is to blame?
Nkoli or Nkoli’s husband
Or the child who jumped prematurely out of heaven’s gate.

Or the ‘the know-your-genotype’ officials walking down the aisle.
Yes, I blame them for not going to Nkoli’s village
To educate poor rural-dwellers on the benefits of knowing your genotypes.
Instead of babbling in the cities a known gospel
Repeatedly heard by urban-dwellers.

They are to blame;
Not only them
I blame ignorance
The blindfold that only the blindfolded cannot untie.
The horizon that can be seen when boosted up by another…

I have seen before my eyes
Before the world’s eyes
The wedlock of ignorance.
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