Memories that travel

Funtua, Katsina.
The Muslim prayers crack the dark
And write a scroll of your unfaithfulness
The kids hooded in hijabs
Scornfully stare as you walk past
In clothes you termed modest.
“Harna”, this is what you will be called
Until you learn by being stoned
That trousers are meant for the staminate.
We will touch you in places that are too curvy
Be it breasts or hips or assess.
Pray where no one sees
Hide your bible in your jeans
And tell no tales of your saviour.
Greece.

LARDO.