Raised By A Woeman Poem by Chris Chie'zie

In the heart of Benin-City's bustling streets,
Where dream and struggle intertwines,
A tale unfolds, woven with threads of resilience,
And the indomitable spirit of those who dare-
raised by we men

Big Mumma, her apron dusted with flour,
A home business thriving, bills paid in sweat,
Her kitchen a sanctuary, fragrant with spices,
Yet the patrons— uniformed sentinels—
Yeah! The unpaid ~they devour the offerings.
Raised by a woman!

Austin, restless and unyielding, Heeds a different call,
a distant echo,
Aba beckons—a smaller city, yet pulsating,
Its industrial heartbeat resonating across the Niger
A post-war economy
A post razed by we men!


In Aba's narrow alleys,
Austin toils,
A shoemaker's apprentice, hunger gnawing,
His daily sustenance a meager ration,
But ambition fuels his toil
With worn hands and weary eyes.
Afraid to be raped by woemen.

Big Bro Dem, sage of the crossroads,
Guides Austin's steps, whispers secrets,
Yet the Sahara's shifting sands lure him forth,
Libya—a gateway to Europe's elusive paradise.
To be raised by women!

Across deserts,
Austin treks, seeking solace, Libya's warmth embraces him, a respite,
Yet echoes of war reverberate—Liberia, Iraq— Oil riches and turmoil entwined,
Nigeria's fate uncertain.
Unraised by women.

Before the Mediterranean's azure expanse,
Austin pauses, torn between continents,
Home tugs at his heart,
a compass needle,
For there is no place like the land that cradled him.
Raided by woemen

And beyond borders,
perceptions collide,
A Libyan eyes a Nigerian—
a pest, a stranger,
An Afghan gazes upon an American—an oppressor, Histories entangled,
identities forged in strife.
Raised as we men

Why do companies forsake native soil,
Seeking distant shores,
chasing profit's mirage? Perceived advantage propels their exodus,
Yet yearning whispers:
'Home, sweet home.'
Ruled by we men

In twilight's embrace,
Chris observes,
Young men in the pub,
their laughter fragile,
They harbor dreams, fears,
and the ache of wanderlust,
For every journey begins with a single step.
Raised by a woeman

This, my friend, is but one man's tale, A fragment of our shared human odyssey, Where borders blur, hearts beat in unison,
And the quest for belonging echoes through time.
A tale of a man not yet
Emasculated
Yet raised by a woman.