The Akagu Court of trespass

Behind the clouds,
The sun spits it merciless fire
Ghostly spirits walks forcefully
In their presence the palm branches tremble
And massage each other
Like fresh couples making love
Beneath we sit; at the court of trespass
In the womb of the palace
Our reddish eyes are lucid
Like a Yoruba hunter on a hot chase
Baptized in sweat to release his woe
Having sworn to his wife by the gods
To bring a catch for Amala

Sometimes it is hard for us to understand
The suffering label we wear
Yet the market women’s gossip holds water
That our new Chief, Mensa, not in command of his zip
Sneaks into Agbosu’s house every market day
And unleash his carnal hunger on the cajoling mistress
But whiles enjoying the sweet stolen water
On the twelfth market day after his ascension
Was caught by Agbosu
Who set did set the clever tap
To roof his sins, he names Agbosu as his second in command,
For by Akagu custom a chief names his favorite to help him rule
And we were made the sacrifice for atonement

Agbosu is intoxicated with power
His judgment is cruel and sinful
By means of devilish accusations and plots
He has raped our land of good people he calls enemies
With tears in our eyes we banished our eminent citizens
Okidi the brave hunter, who kills the antelopes for our sacrifices with his bare hands, Gokpe the medicine man who knows all the herbs in the forest than his own skin,
Sogo the wise linguist who knows our traditions and culture from womb to tomb and Akuaye the old village nurse who reduces our wives pain at childbirth
Their departure has indeed opened the darkest chapter of our lives
Oh Agbosu you are a demon
Thou art the torn in our flesh
By thee a dagger of sorrow stabs our souls

But tempus fugit
Agbosu now suffers the same sickness that gave him power
He was caught red-handed today
Playing delightful bed games with the chief’s wife in broad daylight
With sweet anger we have brought them to the court of trespass
The mighty gods of Akagu demand their blood
Mensa is failing to perform his last duty for our exercise
For by custom his voice confirms the death penalty
He is gripped with fear and shakes like a prey of epilepsy
He fears that Mensa will expose his sins if he pronounce his death
But we the sons and daughters of Akagu, do not care how they settle this
Our stones are already falling from our manhood wrappers
For whether Mensa talks or not, every Caesar must accept his tribute

By Enock Gyan
Ghana Institute Journalism
Creative Writers & Orators Club