Mother by Adali-Mortty

mother 3And the joy of the homecoming                                                                                                       with the clansmen’s ribald welcome                                                                                                  Hand-shake, hug and woezɔ!                                                                                                               Woe zɔ!                                                                                                                                                     ringing all around

And old Ma’s pride                                                                                                                                 unbowed                                                                                                                                                bringing in the rear                                                                                                                                Though in body                                                                                                                                     fragile                                                                                                                                                        decrepit                                                                                                                                                 hobble-de-hob                                                                                                                                          unbowed in spirit yet                                                                                                                             old Ma’s pride’s unbowed                                                                                                                     She brings the rear                                                                                                                                 in the full blossom of achievement

She comes-                                                                                                                                                her son-                                                                                                                                                     the coming man-                                                                                                                                     to hold onto her breast                                                                                                                          -with luck to lift him off the ground                                                                                                   as once she did                                                                                                                                       and her cosy back to wrap him again

(Source: Messages; Poems from Ghana. Edited by Kofi Awoonor & G. Adali -Mortty)

(Hogbetsotso is here. To all Tourists, Mia woe zɔ!  Azan loo. You respond Aza seeii.!!! Most of you are going home not just for the festival., but to also connect with your kinsmen. Do you have issues home? Come home. Didn’t our people say, Vi menyea mi ɖe atadzi na ame wotsɔa hɛ kpanɛ o. No matter the flaws, know you will not be disowned by your kinsmen, especially by your mother. Your mothers. For we know that, Norviwowo menya wo na ooh. Dzidodo y3. Are we not brothers and sisters? Friends knitted by blood? Family.  I just decided to share this poem by one of Ghana’s foremost poets with you, Adali-Mortty. Yerrrh. He is family. With Art’s universal appeal we can all feel the warmth of the rousing welcome of mother, father, grandfather or grandmother. I call mine nonga. I visited her this month and she held me to her breast. . How do you call your granny?. In this world which is technologically bringing us together, but humanly tearing us apart, the therapeutic nature of this poem gives one answer to your question: Why should I go home, to my kinsmen?



1 Comment

  1. Great poem! The first born of his mother, Adwoafui, the late Torgah(big father) Adali, as we affectionately called him, never took his relationship with and his responsibilities to his mother for granted. He LOVED his mom. Uncle Adali was a good poet and an astute writer/journalist. His typewriter was his best companion . You’d often find him in his room typing whilst either listening to BBC news or Classical music. As a young boy, I loved to visit him and he allowed us all access into his bedroom. He would always make you read the newspaper to his hearing, while he corrected your mistakes in pronunciation and grammar. He spoke fluent English and had great command over diction.

    Kudos, Alberta, for your hard work.


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