Bom Boy

It's so loud here, I can hardly think. Sometimes I can't feel myself. I mean I can't hear myself. I don't know if I'm making sense. The sound of this place is ugly and crude and grating. I can't sleep at night.

Parents never answered the important questions.

‘Bom Boy!’ my father would say after we'd planted the yam saplings.

That was his nickname for me and it made me feel warm and part of something. Pidgin English for baby boy.

The way green leaves turn brown together and fall from trees, let's grow old together.

The way blossoms curl up and their colours softly stir:

let's grow old and die together

The way green leaves turn brown together and fall from trees, let's grow old together.

The way blossoms curl up and their colours softly stir:

let's grow old and die together.