Archive for the ‘Interventions’ Category
Ticking Time
How lucky, Chief Goat! Look at your well trimmed, thorny horns. Your skin! Though quite stippled with blacks, is snowy. You are now a defiant in the green orchard your forefathers used to tend. They must be proud of you.
O, one won’t. Your always guiding, always warning, father! Your achieved greatness ought to be rubbing his shoulders with his, now equalled, masters. But that servitude spirit won’t. Truth, more of a family curse, made him what he was till he died. I help you ask. What truth that keeps in poverty? What truth that bars all the goodness of life? Abeg.
If he stubbornly refuse to see the actualities, he can suit himself by either drinking a concoction of gammalin 20, liquid cement and mercury or by borrowing a heavenly gun to blow his spirit brains out. He can die again. All enemies of progress must perish. He can do worse when crusading, and you know. When he decides to strip you bare by wanting to collect his name, citing knocks on his head by his own father who is being knocked by his own father, you just do one thing, you have been doing it anyway, ignore him. Rather, embrace the arms of your wives and bosom of your concubines.
They know what good life is. They judge wrongly not. They are glamorous. Or don’t you know what happens after they have allowed your heaviness to have sex with them? They tax you, charging you as if ashawos, as if you have no right to do so. There, you have it. They are ready to forgo comfort for money. Life is all about compromise, you know.
Enjoy your riches. Enjoy it well. At anyone that laments the tactical error of the rightful heirs when they fenced the orchard with substandard wire mesh, laugh hard. Tip it down with Henessy and all those mind-twisting wines. They know not what they say. Some, those troublemakers, will keep badgering but never condescend into answering or acceding to walking out, honourably, when you are firmly rooted at the center of the orchard.
You can’t act against your inner peace and self love. It is an impossible thing. Who will press yes when destruction calls? Everyone dodges. Missed call, straightaway.
Till you drop dead and go to the place that has been specially prepared for you, by your angry ancestors, enjoy, enjoy, enjoy. Don’t let me repeat this. As you know, you go with a stomach that’ll be worse than a pressed Agege bread and which, unfortunately for you, will be maintained by your constant bleating.
