Poem by Francis Ogu
I can’t forget Sioux Falls airport yes I can’t
First day and first night in America
The more I look the less I see
What could this be, my eyes fixed on the glass
Ah! Could this be salt or what?
Americans are rich in salt.
My father’s wife makes her meals with salt
Its colour has never changed from white
Yes this is salt, is very white and in trendy
Often found in the kitchen, there his hut is.
Is always precious to them that cook
My thought and myself.
Oh! I said no wonder Americans are white
No need to buy salt oh my father’s wife
Soon I shall send many salts to you
Why waste this salts, can’t it be sold?
Are you been ruled by myopic people?
My thought and myself.
Behold the man; yes he is Wilson kubwayo
“Bro, welcome to America” he said with smiles
I was so curious to leave the airport why?
I want to pack and play too with the salt
How optimistic I was that this is salt.
My thoughts and myself.
The tale changed, as rapid as i felt the cold wind.
Wilson kept speaking bro have you seen snow before?
No! I said, there and then he gave me His first gift.
Bro this is snow he poured the snow on my hands
Oh! My eyes and thoughts have deceived me.
My thought and myself.
So cold it was, yes very very.
It was melting like wax
I wanted to run but to where how will I know?
I was still thinking, only in airport there is snow
We drove off, goodbye airport of snow I said
Cold all over me, my thought was killed.
This is how my salt turned to my snow
Little wonder the snow penetrates me so much
I took it to be salt; the snow gives me hard knocks
Despite all the jackets Wilson bought for me
Yet the snow refuses to be merciful to me
Oh! I am so sorry snow, never will I call you salt anymore.