Night Hunters

Night Hunters

By George Amadi

Nightfall’s deafening downpour

Away from view crept

In its wake wet lowland left;

From a drunken highland

Overflowing clay fluid,

Torrent after torrent,

A fertile, verdant

Forest valley

Hammered

Distant moon’s light blazing,

Homeward headed,

Resplendent, through

A shining path sprinted,

Its glare tired

Yam farmers

From sleep roused

But to nocturnal  

Snail-hunters

Huge success

Heralded

Roasted yam’s appetizing

Aroma the breezy air filled;

The grub, an old man

Watching over things

Nibbled; a sumptuous

Helping of six

Peppered snails

By starry-eyed maidens

Grilled and

Presently, to the hungry

Elder’s way will be

Destined,

As well as a gift

Of frothy palm-wine

At day-break

Fetched

In tandem, driven long

Pestles

Hefty, boiled yams

In no hurry pounded,

Thanks to three stout

Women, to each,  

A giant mortar assigned.

Ensuring a simmering oha soup,

A mouth-watering,

Igbo delicacy,

Didn’t boil over,

An amiable grand-mother,

For her inimitable

Recipes known,

The lid of a clay pot

On fire, from time to time,

Lifted, and precious

Contents stirred.

Lagos, April 28, 2013