MY RAMSHACKLE

MY RAMSHACKLE

Tucked away from Main Street,
my retirement abode,
atop a two-storey
ramshackle,
sits pretty
with a vantage view
of the sky-line
hugging coconut trees
hiding Atlantic Ocean
from view.

A sea of rusty roofs,
face-saving caps to tainted
shacks, all meticulously
spread out
around the edifice
I live in --
an apartment building
not more than a miserable
patch-work without
a garden --
stuck perfectly
dead centre of
a notorious slum,
painfully draws
even greater attention
to the potentials of
this missing sea-front,
thereby doubling
my misery.

Every move, and many
there have been,
albeit half-hearted,
at giving the neighbourhood
a face-lift
in sharp disagreements
ended,
not least of all,
drilling a gutter
through its hundred-metre,
unpaved road
characterised mainly
by gullies.

In the evening of a chequered
life, I would have treasured
nothing more
than the serenity
offered bountifully
by the rolling hills of Nsukka
but, pray, why, every
now and then, do
I keep returning
to the twin villains,
bedlam
and squalour,
which funky Lagos never
stops
poking in my face,
time and
time again?  

 

by G. Amadi

Lagos,
Oct. 29, 2012