I Miss Growing Up

I miss growing up, down in the village,

between hills on the green sugar belt of the West,

Morns and sun sets in the ever wet farms,

Football and hide and seek, games of the time.



I miss growing up, down in the village,

walking the whole village and taking a dip in the ponds,

playing marbles and rubbing shorts till they got holes,

running downstream shouting the afternoon away,

man, I miss the moments.



I miss growing up, down in the village,

carrying roast maize in pockets at dawn,

ignoring the burns on the way to school,

with toes kissing gravel, nose biting cold,

trotting to avoid the cane for the late in the chill



I miss growing up, down in the village,

getting lost at dusk in the next village,

just because I followed the initiates-to-be

getting back home late and wasted,

dreading the cane and slipper in dad's hand,

dreading shower time, yes shower time.



I miss growing up, down in the village,

climbing up guava trees and eating to the full,

spending the next week constipated, for the fun of it,

I miss creating vehicles from barbed wire,

with wheels from old rubber, bulbs as headlights,

joints of rubber bands, races to the shop.

I miss creating castles and herds from clay,

I miss building mansions from sticks,

I miss playing stick and seed football,

I miss playing one-touch soccer,

I miss playing mum and dad,

I miss playing cops and the thieves,

I miss showering in the rain,

I miss throwing rain ice to each other,

I miss chasing the sheep and goats,

I miss watching dad milk the cows,

I miss harvesting nuts, and eating in the farm.



I miss growing up, down in the village,

after the cane was cut and the aroma filled our noses,

sending thrills and adrenaline,

sending us jumping over piles and stubs,

getting hurt but conquering the pain,

faking blindness to the blinding dark.



I miss growing up, down in the village,

stalking girls and freaking them out,

getting reported and being punished for it,

I miss walking the dogs down the river,

I miss catching fish in the neighbor's ponds,

catching slippery mud fish and watching them slip away.



I miss growing up, down in the village,

walking in the beautiful moonlit eves with a soft breeze,

running from the sway of canes,

panting from figures of mystery formed from the dark.



I miss growing up, down in the village,

the silence and warmth of the neighborhood,

the togetherness, knowing all neighbors,

leaving the door open, even at night.



I miss growing up, down in the village,

I miss chasing the sun,

I miss chasing the rain,

I miss watching the rainbow,

I miss watching the birth of a whirlwind,

I miss watching the boats across the stream.





When I grow up, up in the city,

I would love my kids,

to grow up, down in the village.