Life in the village

Life in the village

 An observation of Igbogiri village,Edo state

I love the village. I love how the gentle breeze stroke and tease the trees casting down the ripen fruits as if it was conducting a deliverance.
I love the cool serenity of the surroundings and how smoke sneak out of the ashen blackened windows.

I love the calmness that engulf the faces of the aged as they sit outside the verandah and the curious weird stare they give to strangers.

I love the babble of the infants and the toothless cackle of the elderly.
I love the way the birds twitter and crow above the sky and amongst the trees, and the way squirrels display their acrobatics, while the hunters wait in anticipation.
I love the way the lizards nod lazily and wait for unsuspecting flies and bugs, and the way the spider’s web engulf tiny droplets of dew at dawn.

morning dew

I love the little theatrical display by the smiling mad man and how he snatches food from hawkers and traders and how they curse him in return.
I love the freshness that exudes out of the vegetation and the strong smell of earth.
The native boys
 When the cock crows and dawn rouses from it peaceful slumber, the village boys yawn lazily as they turn and stretch on their bug ridden mats, each prays that dawn delays a bit as they know the magnitude of work left over at the farm yesterday.

firewood to be ferried home

It a taboo not to sweep the compound every day, it is deem as a necessary ritual to shower in blessings of that day.

“The witches might have run through the compound in the night and sweeping the compound neutralizes it.” Granny would say.
 “When sweeping you should be careful of stepping on strange objects on the ground, you might never know if it is planted there by enemies, the woman with a swollen leg down the street is a proof of that.” The zigzag patterns on the ground are always evidence that ground was properly swept.

@thankgod sweeping

Then one by one each family venture out on the damp cold tarred road to their farmlands, and soon they branched out to tackle their portion. The cutlasses swish rhythmically as if it was planned, then the sun rays become unbearable and they have to hide in the shades or their farm huts.
off to farm

Evenings are always noisy, the forests and farmlands come to life.  The nocturnal animals announce their presence by the sounds and calls they make. The bamboo bars heave heavily from indecent music and laughter and teenagers laze around hoping to get a quick sip of cheap alcohol and waylay unsuspecting girls by the bend.

the bamboo bars

The boys wait impatiently by the boiling pot while they struggle with hunger pangs. Granny doesn’t cook on time.
The firewood burns more sluggishly and they could not contain the hunger pangs dancing in their stomach so they blow on the fire to hasten dinner.

kitchen duty

Chores are always boring but necessary except you are willing to skip meals and the dishes pile up like a mighty anthill. The basins of cassava need attention, the wandering goats are to be brought back home and the drums of water are to be filled up.

the stubborn goats to be brought home

Sometimes the traps catch bush rats, and the whole yard smells of roasting. The boys look forward to those days as they love the process of roasting and bush meats.

the art of roasting

Their favorite get away is usually under the native pear tree, where they gather and eat the delicious fallen pears, or the edge of the deep burrow pit dug by their ancestors to prevent the invasion of their rival tribe. There they stand and joke about the mad man called Joe and some of granny friends.
The decaying fallen tree trunk is their little hide out when Granny sends big sister to look for them and they make sure they get home before she does.

hiding from big sister

Sundays is when they mostly eat stew rice and get to put on their best clothes, and then they smile sheepishly at the little girls at the church gate while the women in their colourful attire gossip at the back of the church.

free time

And every day is a repetition of the previous day except when someone dies or put to bed or a surprise visit from loved ones. The weekdays are for school and the evenings for other activities.They sure look forward to those days when they are a lot goodies and money in house.


I spend a week in Igbogiri,  a village outskirt of Benin, during my stay I followed the boys around(Christian and thank god ) and I enjoyed capturing
their happy moments and also the village.

peeled cassava

cassava paste left to drain

more draining 

outdoor kitchen

enjoying the shade

hungry boys

the art of roasting

the fireplace : a place of stories

the art of roasting


the path to the forest

farm hut

mud house

fireplace at farm


palm kernel

stoning native pears

@thankgod picking them up

there is love in sharing

boys will always be boys

at the well

food is ready


under the pear tree

models@thankgod and christian

ese is a free spirited human, who is passionate about books,tourism, travel,adventure, food and fashion, she is a journalist by profession, and soon to be celebrated author of her time.

Blog Comments

I saw you blog and i feel soo happy too see that you inspired people and feel the same what they feel like living in tribes and paeicupate there daily lifes felix

I love this … PLease keep it up dear…

I love this, keep it up Sis
More success

Nice one Ese…keep it up!

This is good Felix…your good use of imagery practically transported me to Igbogiri village…keep it up


glad you liked it

thank you

thank you

thank you


glad you liked it

it actually fun participating in thier lives, am glad you liked it

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