/ October 10, 2019
No Comments
I know a people from the East Of the rising sun of River Niger Where women were once sacred Givers of life and sacred custodians Called mothers for myriads of reasons Mothers from their very tender age Little sisters but already perfect mothers Being moulded to fit a perfect stereotype Meticulously groomed to be the best of cooks Scrub, wash, weed, sit with their legs crossed Once they learn to stand…