Poetry

LIFE IN THE WASTE BASKET
Sampson Nkwetatang Nguekie

Those of us who live in the waste basket
Have either been put there by other people, or we have put ourselves into it.
Some of my neighbours in the waste basket have been put there by other people
But I have entered into it myself to experience its merits and demerits,
For a wise man once told me that if I am looking for wisdom,
I should look for it in that rubbish which humanity has thrown to the dogs. 

You may call it a waste basket, a dust bin, or a thrash can
But what is very interesting in it is that there is life in it.
In it, if you are beaten, you only laugh,
Because if you cry, no parent will console you, for everybody there is an orphan. 
In it, you may call someone a friend, a brother, a sister, an uncle or an aunt
But when he or she is eating, those relationships should wait.
In it, you may assist someone, but when he or she is harvesting, 
The memories of that assistance should go to sleep.

Life in the waste basket is very entertaining.
In it, some people quarrel over a piece of yam, and fight to bleeding point.
Others quarrel over husbands and wives, and fight to the dead.
What I most enjoy in the waste basket is that in it, 
Some people regret for the pain which they have inflicted on others, 
And their consciences punish them throughout their miserable lives there.
The aridity, the hunger, the thirst and the chagrin of the waste basket is peculiar.
Yet, what most puzzles me is that when it is opened, nobody likes to go out – even me.

I once told a wise man about life in the waste basket and he exclaimed,
‘That is life on earth, my brother!’
‘Life on earth?’, I asked in utter astonishment.
‘Yes’, he confirmed. ‘Life on earth.’
‘Therefore, we human beings are responsible for all our sufferings. Shame on us!’,
I concluded.