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The Motoka

You see that Benz sitting at the rich’s end ?

Ha! That motoka is motoka

It belongs to the Minister for Fairness

Who yesterday was loaded with a doctorate

At Makarere with whisky and I don’t know what

Plus I hear the literate thighs of an undergraduate.

You see those market women gaping their mouths ?

The glory of its inside has robbed them of words,

I tell you the feather seats the gold steering

The tv the radio station the gear!

He can converse with all the world’s presidents

While driving in the back seat with his darly

Between his legs with the driver seeing a thing!

ha! ha! ha!

Look at the driver chasing the children away

They want to see the pistol in the door pocket

Or the button that lets out bullets

from the machine

Through the eyes of the car


Let’s not talk about it.

But I tell you that motoka can run

It sails like a lyato, speeds like a swallow

And doesn’t know anyone stupid on its way

The other day I heard –

But look at its behind, that mother of twins!

A-ah! That motoka is motoka

You just wait, I’ll tell you more

But let me first sell my tomatoes.

Theo Luzuka

edited by Wole Soyinka

African Writers Serie


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ISSN: 1992-2647