By Tikum Mbah Azonga
I’m just from writing
I did my best
I dotted my ‘I’s and crossed my ‘T’s
I believe I left no stone unturned
In the quest for a pass mark
But I’m neither the examiner nor the marker, nor the jury.
My bags are packed and I’m waiting
I’m watching the wind vane on the crest
I’m surely not thinking of free seats
Although I remember the offertory baskets that were burned
As long as the catechist’s dog doesn’t bark
Who am I to start inquiring about injury?