On the Trotro to Ada Foah
The Trotro bumps and rattles along
The dusty rough gravel road,
With its' occasional patches of pavement.
Clutters of windowless adobe houses with thatched roofs
Are a run with goats, chickens and small children.
Men wield pick axes,
Nap on benches,
Or play road side checkers
Under woven grass shades.
Women wash, and cook.
They tend children and farm.
Their skinny brahma cattle eek out a living
On the flat parched land.
Smoke from burning grass fills the air.
A billboard offers a herbal miracle cure for asthma.
Dry ploughed fields
Are brown and empty
Except for intricate ant hills the size of houses.
Suddenly there is a splash
Of road side colour.
Rich burgundy onions,
Sizzling red tomatoes
And glowing yellow melons,
Are crops for sale
From a rare irrigated patch of land.