In the streets of Accra and Tema, children have their own circus camp
|In the blazing heat, of the hot African sun,
women roast ripe plantains, over charcoal fires,
in white basins converted to grills,
to be eaten in newspapers,
with roasted groundnuts on the side.
Boys from school, peel off sweat soaked shirts,
and turn cartwheels, by the side of roads,
jumping at the back of cars, that go too slow,
making faces at drivers,
bloated in face, shaking fat fists.
They bring aluminium basins,
ten in number,
and spin them with sticks,
found from under a tree,
they stand on the back of each other,
and form a pyramid, with the smallest boy on top,
still spinning the basins, non-stop,
a small crowd gathers,
more people join.
They twist into shapes,
stiff bones cannot comprehend,
and the girls run round them,
clapping and singing,
the crowd joins in, singing along.
And just when it is five-thirty, getting to six,
when the sky is bright orange and red and purple,
it all ends, just like that.
Thunderous applause follows,
and the roasted plantain sellers,
rush forward to hand to these children,
steaming hot, roast plantain wrapped in old Graphic or Times.
This was no camping, that's for sure,
but that's the circus we grew up knowing,
along the streets, of Accra and Tema.
Graphic and Times are newspaper publications in Ghana
My six-year old friend Addie starts "circus camp" this week - which sounds fun to me! So title your story or poem "Circus Camp" (it must be the title of your static item) and write about circus camp.