The Hen is distracted. She went after a singing parrot, thinking she (parrot) has a clue to the haystack, not knowing the parrot’s song is a cry for help. The chickens meanwhile are exposed to a scotching heat.
The Hawk, seeing a perfect opportunity for dinner offered to shade the chickens under her wings. The chickens seeing a friendly smile and a succor from the heat went for it.
Soon they will realize who the real enemies are. Soon they will learn to focus on common goals. Soon they will learn to wage war against common enemies.
.... Isqil Najim
I woke up with a violent cough. I felt the
taste of the sputum, and I knew instantly it was blood. The bleeding has
started again, but this is Ramadan. I can’t take drug or drink water. Then I
did what is best in the circumstance. Prayed. The bleeding went away on its
own. But I know I will have to seek medical attention soonest.
Not long after, I settled down to read the news. I wasn’t surprised. The Hawks are at it again. Always bad news. That was the main reason I stopped buying papers anyway and the reason I stopped watching tv. Nothing can be more frustrating than reading an unpleasant news. I chuckled at the realization that my countrymen are feasting on the news.
An incarcerated Major finally woke up to tell us who killed a Yoruba Aare Ona kakanfo while drinking a specially made tea from devil's kitchen and one dark-goggled dictator who we were all told kicked the bucket while savouring succulent Indian apples.
Not the kind of news I will love to ignored. Unfortunately, there was nothing in the much hyped video to answer the question he threw up. Who killed these men? Instead, I found enough confusion and drama. I almost forgot that the script wasn’t written in Hollywood. It was written in an underground cell of a maximum security prison in Kirikiri. The plot is unfolding and the actors are at work. Each interpreting the plot so perfectly that it was hard to think of now and here. We are carried to the highest level of fantasy. Glued to our seat, we fervently hope the plot will lead to a satisfactory ending. It is time for parrots to sing.
While the Major unravel the plot, painting himself as the most patriotic and honest Nigerian ever, he didn’t forget to tell us that we won’t have a full story because they are threat to National Security. Perhaps he wasn’t told of Boko Haram bombing and the post-election violence.
Even though the plot is still unfolding, Nigerians are more than happy to be entertained. No everyone care how many more years the Major spend in jail. Not everyone care whether it is a ploy to stir up emotion and win himself freedom. Everyone just wants to experience the moment and exercise their freedom of expression. As long as he entertain them as he did during Oputa panel, it is okay.
As I was pondering on this, I noticed a sharp pain on left side of my head, neck, and back. I must have forgotten that I needed a doctor. Just like most Nigerians forget their problems when reading a comic strip from kirikiri and Aso Rock.
I noticed I have missed my bus stop while consuming junks from Nigerian newspapers. I notice for the first time that I am bleeding.
My brother had last week mistakenly shut a car door against my hands, trapping two middle fingers in the process. I was just lucky to have a good immune system and no broken bones. But it was bleeding now. I feel like hitting the Major for my bad luck. ''I will be fine, I told myself''
I made my way to NSE Office, and discovered again that I have misplaced my diary. What a day! I prayed silently that the diary will be safe. (Though I later find it)
I got home at night and realized I have forgotten to get food to break my fast. I can’t go out again and all I have at home are date fruits and china tea. China tea? MKO came to my mind again. I'd rather settle for dates today.
So sweat are the dates that they sweeten my belle. Now I feel good. He whose belle no sweat should lick honey or chop dates.
Just as I was about retiring to bed and sleep, a distress message came from a friend. He needed help badly and he feels I am in a position to help. Of course, I can’t help but I have to find a way.
Then, I started bleeding again, this time, emotionally. My heart bleeds for my friend and millions of his type who are direct victims of Nigerian problems.
The press makes millions publishing bad news and stoking up tension in the land; the politicians rake up billions by causing confusion and keeping us busy watching videos and making comments. Emotions flared up and we take up fight against one another. We go home with frowning faces and desperation. They go home smiling at the realization that we were kept busy.
Meanwhile, lootings persist. Lawmakers are quietly enjoying the bogus salaries; president is buying time to put his transformation agenda together. But the millions of Nigerians on the street are bleeding one way or the other. I forgot, 50 died on a road the government refused to fix over the years. Their novel solution is building 36 airports.
The Hen is distracted. She went after a singing parrot, thinking she (parrot) has a clue to the haystack, not knowing the parrot’s song is a cry for help. The chickens meanwhile are exposed to a scotching heat.
The Hawk, seeing a perfect opportunity for dinner offered to shade the chickens under her wings. The chickens seeing a friendly smile and a succor from the heat went for it.
Not long after, I settled down to read the news. I wasn’t surprised. The Hawks are at it again. Always bad news. That was the main reason I stopped buying papers anyway and the reason I stopped watching tv. Nothing can be more frustrating than reading an unpleasant news. I chuckled at the realization that my countrymen are feasting on the news.
An incarcerated Major finally woke up to tell us who killed a Yoruba Aare Ona kakanfo while drinking a specially made tea from devil's kitchen and one dark-goggled dictator who we were all told kicked the bucket while savouring succulent Indian apples.
Not the kind of news I will love to ignored. Unfortunately, there was nothing in the much hyped video to answer the question he threw up. Who killed these men? Instead, I found enough confusion and drama. I almost forgot that the script wasn’t written in Hollywood. It was written in an underground cell of a maximum security prison in Kirikiri. The plot is unfolding and the actors are at work. Each interpreting the plot so perfectly that it was hard to think of now and here. We are carried to the highest level of fantasy. Glued to our seat, we fervently hope the plot will lead to a satisfactory ending. It is time for parrots to sing.
While the Major unravel the plot, painting himself as the most patriotic and honest Nigerian ever, he didn’t forget to tell us that we won’t have a full story because they are threat to National Security. Perhaps he wasn’t told of Boko Haram bombing and the post-election violence.
Even though the plot is still unfolding, Nigerians are more than happy to be entertained. No everyone care how many more years the Major spend in jail. Not everyone care whether it is a ploy to stir up emotion and win himself freedom. Everyone just wants to experience the moment and exercise their freedom of expression. As long as he entertain them as he did during Oputa panel, it is okay.
As I was pondering on this, I noticed a sharp pain on left side of my head, neck, and back. I must have forgotten that I needed a doctor. Just like most Nigerians forget their problems when reading a comic strip from kirikiri and Aso Rock.
I noticed I have missed my bus stop while consuming junks from Nigerian newspapers. I notice for the first time that I am bleeding.
My brother had last week mistakenly shut a car door against my hands, trapping two middle fingers in the process. I was just lucky to have a good immune system and no broken bones. But it was bleeding now. I feel like hitting the Major for my bad luck. ''I will be fine, I told myself''
I made my way to NSE Office, and discovered again that I have misplaced my diary. What a day! I prayed silently that the diary will be safe. (Though I later find it)
I got home at night and realized I have forgotten to get food to break my fast. I can’t go out again and all I have at home are date fruits and china tea. China tea? MKO came to my mind again. I'd rather settle for dates today.
So sweat are the dates that they sweeten my belle. Now I feel good. He whose belle no sweat should lick honey or chop dates.
Just as I was about retiring to bed and sleep, a distress message came from a friend. He needed help badly and he feels I am in a position to help. Of course, I can’t help but I have to find a way.
Then, I started bleeding again, this time, emotionally. My heart bleeds for my friend and millions of his type who are direct victims of Nigerian problems.
The press makes millions publishing bad news and stoking up tension in the land; the politicians rake up billions by causing confusion and keeping us busy watching videos and making comments. Emotions flared up and we take up fight against one another. We go home with frowning faces and desperation. They go home smiling at the realization that we were kept busy.
Meanwhile, lootings persist. Lawmakers are quietly enjoying the bogus salaries; president is buying time to put his transformation agenda together. But the millions of Nigerians on the street are bleeding one way or the other. I forgot, 50 died on a road the government refused to fix over the years. Their novel solution is building 36 airports.
The Hen is distracted. She went after a singing parrot, thinking she (parrot) has a clue to the haystack, not knowing the parrot’s song is a cry for help. The chickens meanwhile are exposed to a scotching heat.
The Hawk, seeing a perfect opportunity for dinner offered to shade the chickens under her wings. The chickens seeing a friendly smile and a succor from the heat went for it.
Soon they will realize who the real enemies are. Soon they will learn to focus on common goals. Soon they will learn to wage war against common enemies.
Then I slept off though my heart continues to bleed.
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