By Oladeji Popoola
Her mouth opened wide
Frightened by the haze of dust
That was swallowing up the restless
Children chasing away a whirlwind on the playfield that sprawled beyond what she could descry.
‘Children! Chil!’ Her mouth was sealed. The obvious liveliness of the elated kids rendered her speechless.
‘But what do they know?’ She said under her breath.
At this aganrandi* she used to gaze into the world. She has seen things.
Things like riping girls and boys acting like dewinged alates.
And of children’s deadly adventures.
But on such days the playfield was deserted, she peeked out at sun fading into the horizon.
She knew those children would grow into men and women to deny many of their childhood’s malfeasance.
She knew the alates would gain consciousness once they feast on what whose sweetness is not felt in the mouth.
She remembered her own childhood days.
She smiled at the memories of how they ran after lizards and squirrels. Hunted butterflies and bathed in the rain.
She stared at the children as some now began to play the game of hide and seek. She thought of her age-mates and then stared at the gust of wind sweeping grits in the distance.
As though to mean they have gone with the wind, she stretched out of the aganrandi* and beheld some graves around her. Her face wrinkled as she tottered away in grief.
*A wooden barrier installed at the entrance of a house to ward off domesticated animals.
