Daughters of the Sahel.

Gaskiya, her time will come
She sat by the roadside,
Head bowed, bowl in her laps
Her hair, mangled twists 
She reeked, not the smell of the
Frangipani that filled the air
But of ammonia and urea
A reminder of the
the flaw in her plumbing
She must be 13 or 14
years of age
But it is hard to tell
For her skin is ashen
And her voice hoarse and shaky
Her eyes brimming with tears


People walked past
Mostly in a hurry
Perhaps to getaway
From the tale her presence told
The failure of a generation
Laying the children before swine
Subjugating childhood and womanhood
While the elders, fed on the fat of the land
And raucous laughter filled the chambers
of  lawmakers

I stopped, sat down, and listened
and was intrigued by the beauty from within
As she softly whispered in my ears
The tale of a daughter's sin

Her story is one that rings loud 
in the land of the blessed
The secret shame of a nation
She was barely 10 years old
when she was married off
To the man, her father promised
will take care of her
barely 13, when she was pregnant
with her first child
She hated it all
But
They say it's tradition
To deny the girl child
her childhood
To keep the honor of the family
lest she has sex
before marriage

While Musa was playing
football on the street
And enjoying the sweet thrills
of  boyhood
She was cooking, cleaning
and keeping the bed warm
for the Old man
who is her husband
The one whose tradition
says will take care of her
The one who may abandon
her, for another one
Perhaps younger girl
Depending on how the tide flows


Who cares about her
Dear girl child
Her aspirations
Needs, her life
She is nobody
She is just a girl
Her life is not hers
to decide, what to do
whom to love
Her life belongs to the tradition
As she softly whispers in my ears
The tale of a daughter's sin