Swarm by Ridwan Badamasi


Like any other harvest June they dropped in ones
and twos—scouts sent to taste the lay of the land.
Thin green-brown appendages on swaying maize stalks.
On glistening corn silk. Flickering on spotted grass.
Then a rustle and a silent roar, as if a tempest were brewing
in the distance, a strong wind blowing
through the treetops.
But it wasn’t the wind: the stalks shook, shuddered,
as if being whipped. The air grew lead-heavy as they zinged
and ripped past our cheeks, and for a moment,
as they stormed through in their flight, charging in from the horizon,
they darkened the sky. Under this endless procession,
we tensed, breathless, feeling something between
apprehension and wonder.

Ridwan Badamasi writes from the ancient city of Kano in northern Nigeria. He is a Biochemistry undergrad in Bayero University. You can find him on Twitter: @RidhwanBadamasi

SAI Sabouke
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Sai Sabouke is a writer living in New Bussa, Nigeria. He’s a dervish who sees Sufism, history and language as formidable tools for society regeneration. His writing has appeared in Praxis Magazine Online and Agbowo. Sabouke loves beans, coffee and dreams of roasting the entrails of vultures.