Panorama

The rooster crows, a rusty alarm,

Sun peeks in, chasing morning's calm.

Mama's pot sings a steamy song,

Of yam porridge, thick and strong.

Laughter spills from the open door,

Children chase dreams on the red dirt floor.

Papa sips tea, eyes wise and bright,

School bags packed for a day of light.

But hold on, my friend, before you roam,

There's a rhythm to this Nigerian home.

Respect is the beat, a constant hum,

Elders are cherished, never outrun.

Curfew whispers with the setting sun,

No streetlights guide after day is done.

"Be home by seven!" Mama's voice rings true,

Spooktacular stories lurk after eight, it's boo!

Now phones, those shiny, tempting things,

Can turn you lazy, with imagination's wings clipped.

"Put that away!" a gentle hand might say,

"Read a book, child, learn a folktale's way!"

But don't you fret, there's joy in the air,

Games of hide-and-seek with laughter to spare.

Sharing stories 'neath the moonlit sky,

Ancestral wisdom whispered by and by.

So come, my friend, join the vibrant scene,

Hear the proverbs dance, stories evergreen.

It's a symphony of life, loud and grand,

A Nigerian home, where family takes a stand.

Curfews and chores, they might seem a chore,

But here, they build love, that's what we're working for.

So put down your phone, let your spirit soar,

This African rhythm, forevermore!