The Akagu Court of trespass

Behind the clouds,

The sun spits it merciless fire

Ghostly spirits walks forcefully

In their presence the palm branches tremble

And massage each other

Like fresh couples making love

Beneath we sit; at the court of trespass

In the womb of the palace

Our reddish eyes are lucid

Like a Yoruba hunter on a hot chase

Baptized in sweat to release his woe

Having sworn to his wife by the gods

To bring a catch for Amala

Sometimes it is hard for us to understand

The suffering label we wear

Yet the market women’s gossip holds water

That our new Chief, Mensa, not in command of his zip

Sneaks into Agbosu’s house every market day

And unleash his carnal hunger on the cajoling mistress

But whiles enjoying the sweet stolen water

On the twelfth market day after his ascension

Was caught by Agbosu

Who set did set the clever tap

To roof his sins, he names Agbosu as his second in command,

For by Akagu custom a chief names his favorite to help him rule

And we were made the sacrifice for atonement

Agbosu is intoxicated with power

His judgment is cruel and sinful

By means of devilish accusations and plots

He has raped our land of good people he calls enemies

With tears in our eyes we banished our eminent citizens

Okidi the brave hunter, who kills the antelopes for our sacrifices with his bare hands, Gokpe the medicine man who knows all the herbs in the forest than his own skin,

Sogo the wise linguist who knows our traditions and culture from womb to tomb and Akuaye the old village nurse who reduces our wives pain at childbirth

Their departure has indeed opened the darkest chapter of our lives

Oh Agbosu you are a demon

Thou art the torn in our flesh

By thee a dagger of sorrow stabs our souls

But tempus fugit

Agbosu now suffers the same sickness that gave him power

He was caught red-handed today

Playing delightful bed games with the chief’s wife in broad daylight

With sweet anger we have brought them to the court of trespass

The mighty gods of Akagu demand their blood

Mensa is failing to perform his last duty for our exercise

For by custom his voice confirms the death penalty

He is gripped with fear and shakes like a prey of epilepsy

He fears that Mensa will expose his sins if he pronounce his death

But we the sons and daughters of Akagu, do not care how they settle this

Our stones are already falling from our manhood wrappers

For whether Mensa talks or not, every Caesar must accept his tribute

By Enock Gyan

Ghana Institute Journalism

Creative Writers & Orators Club