a poem by Olomolehin John, Nigeria

Fifty-four years after the foreign chefs
Hands-off our kitchen, stopped making us meals
And left
We still struggle, incapable
Of preparing our own delicacies
All our head cooks in their mischieviousness
Customize a certain culture in common:
Feed their households and husbandries to stupor
With our resources and ingredients
Then deliberately mis-mix, mismanage, misinform
And stir up intense arguments
All to fill their cooking terms
And often fight for more time
Yet no tasty or adequate meals ever prepared
Whereas, a lot among our younger neighbours
Harness their harvests,
And collectively enjoy delicious buffet meals
Our deterioration is always
Worrisome to my heart

Happy Independence, my beloved country. I'm proud to be identified with u and
pledge my loyalty to u as always.

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