“2024 no gree for anybody,” the year began.
“Who goes there? Na me, com beat me,”
confidence thick in the air,
a perfume that wore off too soon.

“Let the poor breathe,” the new chant,
“God abeg,” the anthem as hardship rose.
We took to 𝕏, our stress release,
backing each other with,
“we dey your back, men go mount.”

The year progressed, we moved with “steeze,”
carrying “maximum composure,” an “aura” of strength.
“E no far, we go leg am,” became our mantra
as fuel prices doubled, inflation soaring.
“We gather dey,” in joint struggle,
bound by shared survival.

“#EndBadGovernance,” we chanted loud and clear.
“We move,” we declared, pushing for change,
but “dem go whine you, no panic,”
as the change we craved didn’t come.

“Go warm eba,” became the new clapback on 𝕏,
and “E don cast,” we sang to other African nations
as truths spilled out like untamed waters.
In playful banter, we laughed,
“you go explain tire, no evidence,”
pointing fingers at money loots.

To quell the masses, the usual was served.
Other Africans teased, “With rice they shall rise,”
but we didn’t stop.
We served hot “lewks,”
kept our “drip” sharp whenever we “stepped,”
partying with reminders, “no looseguard.”

2024, indeed, was a lot.
National grid collapsing, naira tumbling,
and if you weren’t coming from a lot,
or going through a lot,
then a lot was waiting for you.

Las las, this “country na cruise,”
“nothing you wan tell me.”
-END-

From the table of the "Friendly Poet", Chinonso Achugbu