ఊఊఏఊఏ, మై డార్లి హోం (రచిఎల్ అకుబ)

Travelling from Onitsha to Owerri,
or from Owerri to Onitsha,
what will you see?
'o course, a small rich town,
near the Njaba Riv'r;
'o course, my darly home, Awo-Omamma;
Awo-Omamma, the daught'r o' Awo-Idemili,
where my people originally migrat'd from,
searching for a drink o' wat'r, as we're told.

O' Umuezukwe, my love,
heark'n to what my people,
some o' Your fruits call You,
refusing to return to Your pamp'ring hands,
fearing Your warm'st embrace!

They, including my broth'r Rachiel Akuba,
say You're black,
bewitching Your own fruits;
they say You're wierd,
harbouring the Afo, our Great Shrine,
barricading Your fruits' fortune,
as our Christian brethr'n make us believe;
they also call You a monkey-surrounded village,
just 'cos our aged customs claim
that we each have a fair share o' these monkeys,
symbolizing us, Your our fruits!

You, who the spirit o' an ancient woman protects,
I idolize You!
You fill'd with honey o' Canaan,
when the foreign oil-tapst'r had Your body drill'd.
I hail You!
You, whose Oguta Lake runs thro',
giving Your fruits a stream to drink from,
I, your prodigal son, salute Your Magesty,
among the oth'r twelve daught'rs o' Your moth'r!

True, You'r homing the Afo Shrine,
Your ancient monkeys are but a good tourist sight,
uplifting Your economy and employing Your fruits,
when the day shall arrive!

O' Great Afo Shrine, how that Your chief priest
like the Great Priest o' Heav'n,
collecting no bribe, and fair to all that call!


Alas, o' alas, o' my love,
for Your fruits are black,
I mean some are bewitching,
scaring away their own kin;
o' that they really love one anoth'r!

O' Moth'r, there're no moth'r
anywhere without a bad egg!
But I see a prophecy comes near,
a good one indeed to be welcomed,
though I know not what it's all about!

Now, I lie in Your warm'st, waiting
for Your Muse,
when my pens shall echoe
Your young still voice to the whole world to behold!