I used to sit at mamas mud couch in the village. My head filled with no knowledge at all just dreams and hopes. I used to admire the big shops at the corner with their variety of goods and the big smiles the traders flashed talking about the big town with many people and lights everywhere. They used to say the people were friendly and ate chicken every day not only on Christmas like we in the village. The women were very friendly and they never wore long dresses like the women of the village. They showed brown skin and they sang beautiful songs like the village sing man. They sipped beer in tiny glasses not with straws like us in the country. When they poked their lips in the air to release beautiful mounds of smoke it looked like wild wolves hounding atop the hills holding those white ended cigarettes in their hands. Every time they spoke they played with their long hair as they sat crossed leg invitingly at the bar counter under the blinding lights of the bar. The men neither were left out as they were never rough palms like me for the only time that happened was when they counted those many green papers of the national currency. They wore small fitting shirts and small trousers a top polished black shoe as they trekked in and out of the bars with a different girl for each Saturday night.
These stories I heard and left my youthful energy feed and gazump off each day toiling the fertile land. Slowly by slowly I saw my money grow up with each harvest as it swelled like a hidden pregnancy. I spent countless nights planning my attack on the city where I heard people wear suits for work and going to bar not awarding its due respect of only church and big days that are circled and coloured on the calendar. Where the women would drink lager with me the whole night and not to have to barge me with talk of I have to go home or mummy will get mad at me. Of cause I had heard about the murders that take place their but the freedom of built up cement and lights instead of this mud and wattle made the heart grow fonder my lips stretching in wild smiles just of the thought of sitting in that rickety path to the city
Moon upon moon they came and went till that one morning I got the chance to head to the city. It happened earlier than I had planned when we needed new pesticide to clear stubborn pests from the garden. Early in the morning I got my Christmas best and jumped onto the early bus. The rusty four wheeled coffin was dump and cold but just the thought of the city where buildings carry themselves was warm enough to brave the cold. In the hills I used to think the roads were smooth but actually where the road got rough marked the start of the city. Roads were potholed and the car bumped all the way, the place was over crowded and moving along the street involved a lot of shoving and pushing as I tried to dodge inhaling the heavy city dist as well as the heavy smell of sewage that flowed aimlessly along the street pavements and sidewalks. I had never seen so many street beggars and drug dealers like I saw in the city with many faces filled with motives that screamed I will rob you at any minute. The women were worse their skin looked plastic like it would burn in the sun and their hair looked like a dolls. That day I swore never to head to the city again since I had learnt that not all that glitters is gold better the village I know than the city I don’t………………………..