Whenever Jafojo came out to talk,
It was to fight the peoples cause,
Giving the poor at least a voice,
And this he took above his work.
Fighter for the poor, so he was called,
Questioning governments and their excesses.
His voice, to the weak brought happiness,
As oppressive acts are recalled and checked.
But came the day men paid him a visit,
Wearing flowing Agbadas, not caring to sit.
He stretched his arm in the bid for shakes,
They stretched out theirs, bearing suitcases.
From then on wherein took he their gift,
He got quite dumb, staring helpless at the poor,
As if their pains he no longer felt,
And steps out, too, not further than his door.
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