A Humble African

I am one of those such who like the romance with the tongue for so long;
But after a second thought, I stopped.
True Africans don't!
Kissing is the White-man's show of affection,
It is like two pouring their saliva into a cup and then thereafter drink up like milk.
Deep is this feeling of disgust and for it we all lust calling it love.

I am humble!
And on the floor I lay like a mat to greet my elders.
No! Not that contaminated handshake, a disease of over familiarity,
Making these young ones say "Hi" and "Bye" to Baba the Ogidigan of our village.
My fathers before I,
Snaked into several wrappers in the confides of their huts
Never a time was any hurt whatsoever, ever so recorded.
Sadly, just a one night stand could keep one standing forever on the sixth feet.
Where did it come from?
We were obviously the experiment for their scientific mis-education.

I am humble!
The gods are wise and not primitive
Can a man kiss a fellow man before Ifa and live? No!
And to the norms we all must conform and not grumble or photocopy what is not!
How the change from our glorious past will forever last like kola-nut in the mouth of those who value it!
As for me, it is the worst calamity
And to it I say, Tufiakwa!