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Published on Jun 23, 2012
Salia Koroma on poverty.
(....) "The reason why I dread poverty: There's such frenzy in a poor man's hurt pride; But let him break wind and he's all smiles. Come my people! There's so much I want to say, so won't you listen?
"Poverty smells nastier than (high) 'pepi' fish. The man who sleeps in his farm-hut raves at his son: 'What can they be having in the village that we can't have at the farm-hut here? A soup of rat meat is even tastier than beef soup, my friend.'
This stomach of mine is gone all soppy wet I can't set it in the sun, for there goes the sun. Let's hot-foot it, let's press on, my friend. My affairs go to waste in my absence; Even as I do this it foams;it's now (palm) wine And I long to drink it, my people.
"Ah, I swear to God," a weir-trap setter scolds his son Since I gave birth to you, you've refused to work for me. Behold your inheritance that stretches out. When I die someday, now with whom would you have to dispute it?' (....)