my civilized brother.

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My brother read the white wisdom,
of men and women overseas-
and he called it a civilized civilisation.
He says he crossed oceans,
in a flying motoka°
he ate, drunk, danced and dined with the whites;
these baby-skinned creatures.
My brother came back a white in black skin,
on the village walk-ways he avoided dirt darkened handshakes;
that previously shared in his plate of posho°
This civilized brother, looking at my bare feet with disgust-
he forgets my sweet native name, he calls me Nanii°-
so he does my language.
He speaks through the nose,
as though with a cold in a rainy August-
when roast corn is our daily bread.
©Bunguswa Brian™

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