Their rigorous climate dream lay along tiny line on my back. They must step this ladder as they rough breathing or aspire to a tragic unknown. They need me, and they know me as a naive fellow. I am the one who believe in life after death; Adam and Eve; apple and the snake story; Nigerian politicians are not thieves; Allah He who anoints leaders, and so on. I must keep their faith to lose my morality. That is my fate. Do I deserve a better doom?

I was aware of the approaching doomsday but was helpless to avoid it. I am a midget with a crumb of information about my plans. Never met anyone quite so dim. They know me. They need me: a tender heart to crush like an aluminum can. They must use me…They need me to help them oppress me. They are now singing songs quite different from the one they used to crush me for more than eight years. 

"Crumb a cutlet; throw it to him," they shout. True to my type wag my tail like a happy dog. Tears I had kept in my life begin to rain. Tears of joy. I doubt it. Tears of tear it must be. Then I heard a rhetoric – a piece of bread. It is all I need to render my soul uninhibited wilderness, worthless for cultivation.

So I yell, "Father of modern Nigeria…He is the father of modern Nigeria...Exemplary leader…'NIDO Hero'…Messiah he is…worship him…The father of modern Nigeria." This is all I need to survive and, or become a patriot. Simple-minded, ignorant, sycophant. Then they decorate me with a false medal to make me a crawler – forever. It energises my mind, so I begin to carry their logo-dupery – for quite a long time…

But now I heed the advice of the old women who for one full moon, had secretly removed the log in my eyes; and the cotton that had deafed me. Their palaver, deceptions my inner head could now see. How would they climb down?

"Crumb a cutlet; throw it down," they now beg rather than shouting. My belly too weak to mouth. How would they climb down now? Their success is my headache; my agony.

Hanging is not entertaining. Their twin brother knows the danger. So he begins to confuse me; entice me with what his sister had used to punish my thought. He does not use rhetoric like the brother. Smart fellow. He knows about my short memory, and thus he begins his own rape. He begins by saying he has turned into a new leaf, and should I believe him? Should I let him mock my intelligence?  Once more?

Now that the fight is getting tougher, the two worms – my oppressors – want me to vote. Both parties have resulted to blackmail in order to lure me. I must hold registration card otherwise my baby twins will starve to death…Criminals will not smell Aso Rock... EFCC will be allowed to do its job without witch-hunting as it is happening now…Wetin you carry men will receive #50.000 basic salary so they can do their assigned job with dignity…

He pleads further in order to confuse me even after the senate indictment and counter indictment. "Forgive my brother…we all make mistake…he the best among the worst…he now democrat...give him another chance…he now  born again…he different from babatoncrazy...he new beginning...his health very good...he shall listen your cries…your suffer is end…he the one…he the only one out of 140 millions people…vote and vote and vote for him"  

Himself he expresses readily, clearly and effectively but lacks understanding. He is unable to enter into my feelings. He still believes to the contrary; withal my thinker remains gullible. He cares not to know the woman of wisdom had cured my memory. She had decoded the esprit de corps that had enslaved my life. It’s my time to throw up the crumb – for them to feed. Or let them rest atop the tree, and until they stop the act of depriving something of its sacred character.  

@2007  

mysmallvoice@yahoo.com  

Robot  Villager

# 1 Their rigorous climate dream lay along tiny line on my back. They must step this ladder as they r...Read the full article. Posted by Robot| 28.02.2007 15:57