We
sat around the evening fire warming our cold scaling skin, dried like a smoked
tilapia fish from the harmatan breeze. My joy knew no bound as i sat beside
him, he was constantly cracking his knuckles and spitting into the burning
fire, his eyebrows were greyed, he was aged in wisdom and in physique. I
listened with rapt attention as he recalled the beautiful memories of his
boyhood, when Lagos/Ibadan expressway was not bloodthirsty, when children
played on the streets without the fear of rapist or kidnappers, the days when
you do not have to rob a bank to eat good food, suddenly he sighed and murmured
the good old days.
I
could not longer stomach the storm raging in my belly, i was quick to ask what
happened to those days? I screamed loud, we are constantly being raped by your
generation, the nascent democracy is stunted, our beloved nation is on the edge
of precipice, she has become a theater of absurdity, a den of corruption with
the world wildest breed of profligate politicians, our hospitals are
inhospitable, our universities has become an abattoir, our roads a death trap,
he watched and listen as i tried to rewrite the Christian holy book of
lamentation.
He
spat into the fire again as he called out to the little boy and begged him to
fetch us more firewood, he coughed and spat into the fire for the umpteen
times.
He
requested for the cold cup of water I had with me, that had become almost hot,
he collected it and thanked me, he tried to lure me into another discussion on
the benefits of warm water, I kept mum, he took a gaze at me , and he
immediately sensed my glaring lack of interest in that health talk.
At
this moment, his voice was becoming faint, i moved closer to this sage whom is
the patriarch of my genealogy, with
tears welling up in my eyes, i asked him how do we come out of this
"wahala"?
He
gave me a stern look and asked me what i knew about Switzerland and the Swiss
model of government...............................................................................................................................
I
racked my brains immediately to avoid a break in this fertile intellectual
intercourse between two generations, i was quick to recollect my previous
conversation with grandma whom we fondly called "iya agba" before she
sailed across river Styx... To be continued
Onyibe
Oliver
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