Writer of the Week: Toluwanimi Obiwole

Ibadan

auntie grows ewedu in the backyard
Ibadan is a handful of lemongrass boiled with rainwater
the purest form of my father I know
here, he smiles in love letters to old girlfriends
runs his fingers through the rusted gate of his elementary school
and we all breathe easier here
the generator is twisted into ivy breaking through the brick of the outer gate
the red dirt marks everything
coats uncle’s pressed suit
grows into your blood
follows you the way a souvenir cannot
this is unconquerable land
wildflowers have overtaken the old foreign tire company
your sugar does not grow here
I’ve never met a land that rains like your grandmother bathing you
scraping with wise hands in a tin bucket
this is where I want my bones rested
where the sun is always showing off
where poverty is just another word the British made up
where the melon vines stretch eagerly up to our urging hands

Here
We are familiar with laughter
The way America is familiar with debt
We live
Loud and up close
Off-grid
Off-schedule
Here
We
Know
How
To
Live