The Lament
By the roadside
On way to their village
With hands under chins
Sobbing gently, crying audibly, wailing sadly
And rather incomprehensibly, intermittently laughing hilariously
As if on cue, they then loudly uttered a succession of expletives
A perturbed oldie traveller
Chancing on the melancholy six
Gently enquired what be the matter
One after one the suspicion
The very strong suspicion
Invisible invaders were about in their village
My brother’s body found on outskirts of village
My father disappeared from village mosque
My cousin abducted from village football field
My uncle in prison for telling stories to village chief
My sister beaten for not clapping for distinguished visitors to village
My nephew with village chief for writing nonsense about distinguished visitors
So we sobbed
So we cried
So we wailed
So we laughed
But we also shouted expletives
And even more expletives to temporarily drown our sorrows
But we were called uncivil
Uncivilised even
By others also condemning the invisible invaders
For shouting a few expletives
At the traumatic invisible invaders of our village
What utter nonsense this
The oldie traveller agreed our expletives we should escalate
For death is infinitely worst than the worst form of expletives
For disappearance is worst than a few mild expletives
For abduction is worst than a handful of expletives
For unmerited imprisonment is worst than occasional expletives
For physical abuse is worst than few expletives directed at the village traumatizer
How misplaced this ridiculous lament of our civilised and cultured men and women
Lamin J Darbo