I've heard stories.
I've read tales of the good old days.
Days when education was free
and living was in an almost perfect ease
without fear of danger and
unnecessary anxiety for another day's meal.
Good old days
when Nigerians were a force to reckon with
In numerous fields including sports.
When our currency was valued
in our continent, even across the seas.
Good old days, when our leaders
thought less of their differences
and worked hard to make
the country a center of attraction.
Love was so real in that time
that a Yoruba man refused
to give up his igbo visitor to death
and agreed to die with him
because he placed humanity above tribe.
It was in those days that
You could eat to your satisfaction
With as small a money like one naira,
a phenomenon that has ceased
to exist in this age.
Those days when you only spend
the exact period for your course of study.
When additional years were only
because of carryovers not
because of an annual festival called strike.
The good old days when
Nigerians were satisfied with their country
and would only be found outside
because of vacation or education.
Those days when immigrants
were in large numbers than emigrants,
When Nigerians could proudly
look intimidators in the eyes and say, "I'm from Nigeria."
I'm not lucky enough to exist in that time
but I'm fortunate enough to witness how things started to change for worse
and how we attained this awkward state.
©Akinwole John Akintayo
#AnsaPoetOfTheWeekContest
