By Adekoya Boladale
Shadows have taken over our land, our soul is in captive, our minute hope has just been crumbled. Who could have thought of this? Who could have seen this coming? Yes, we had no faith in him. Yes, we had no desire in his actions. But like a prodigal son we hope he finds his way back. How sorrowful that the beast of darkness has built a castle in his soul, how pathetic that he derives more pleasure in the crumbs from the Pigs table.
438 days ago this same beast took over his soul; just like the lost dog he could hear us no more. We tried all we could to bring back sanity to his abode, but the more we try, the more we fail. With heavy heart we took to the market square and made it our home, we stood neck-hooked to the gods to bring back his memories. The memories of his promise before his coronation, the memories of his pledged for truthfulness, his oath of allegiance to us and just us, the vow to make uphold the grundnorm.
After 14days the gods heard our plea, he could see, he could talk, he could walk but from that day onward the rythmns of our voices became a stranger to his ears. We were contented with the little we had and went home merry. We endured the pains, we swallowed the agony. Even when his wife was sick and died, he needed our pleas to the gods, we denied him not. The gods saw our tears and gave him reason to smile again. Even while we eat from the dust of the grounds and he feeds fat on Antelopes and Catfish we send no curse to his household but open our lips wide to heaven for manna.
Again he made a pledge to us; he came back on his knees just like he did before coronation. He sworn before heaven and earth, before gods and wizards. He appealed to our sentiment and pray we give him just 12 moons to make amends. We calm our nerves again and allowed the gentle breeze of the high Ogudu Mountain to take over our soul.
But we forgot the words of our forefathers, we ignored the saying of the past, that no matter how well you scrub the ‘egbolo’ leaf the scent of faeces never departs from it. Just when we were hoping for his magical touch, when we were waiting for the aroma of his relief, he dealt us a huge blow.
You remember Alams, the crook from the creek. No, not the one cooling off in his new found paradise in Queensland that is James from the linage of Ibori. You should remember him, the one who sneaked to his home disguised as the daughter of eve, the governor who brought shame to our land through his heroic escaped from the London’s watchmen, the one who made his home in London the treasury bank of his state, yes, the one who laid down the foundation for Michael Scofield. He is a saint now; our king cleansed his inequities with the blood of the throne. After all the sorrows and pain he brought to the Kingdom of Bayelsa, after all the agony and suffering he caused his people, our king made him a knight. He is a man of honor now; his robes would be sowed in seven colours while maids flower’s his path.
He is better than the soldiers who have fought to make us live, his integrity now supersedes the five pillars that fought for our freedom. Now his name has been written in gold.
To Alams rejoice for your kingdom has come, beat the great ‘gangan’ and take to the street of Babylon, shout to the top of Everest and seat at the zenith of the Eiffel tower. Today a battle you have won, a battle against justice, a battle against fairness, a battle against sanity. But remember our world is but a market we all have to go home. Back to the abode of a Supreme Being who never drinks from the stream of impurity nor hold feast for corruption.
Oh our king has lost his sanity; oh our king has lost his mind. He sees a hero in a tyrant, he sees gods in beast, he sees peace in hurricane. Let our neighbours hear our cry, let our friends and foes feel our plight. Let the thunderous echoes of our speechless but wary hearts fill the ears of our gods. Our heart is heavy, our soul bleeding, our body seeks for change. For how long do we have to wait? How long must patience stays in our homes? Our palms are hitching, our toes swelling.
Oh our gods, oh our ancestors why take Musa from us and give us this.
Insanity is but a plague only the gods can cure. The tears of our toddlers is enough to worth your mercy. Oh our gods, bring back our good fortune, bring back the luck of our King, bring back to him the memories of the shoeless yesterday.
Adekoya Boladale is a political scientist and wrote via adekoyaboladale@gmail.com
Twitter: @adekoyabee