soon the smell of boiled lamb
will hold on to the strands in my nose
Nene will wobble with the crowd
that would gather to mob me.
mum will abandon wares and
upturn the tray to throw her arms around me.
their voices will open the windows of neighbours
papa will wear his glasses and his pride
and his smiles will scream “Iye has returned”
home will be like a river
that found its first water.
the sun does not set in my house
night never knows darkness
the chatter in this bus won’t
stand up to the rattle that awaits at home.


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