Thursday, October 17, 2019

Five-handed writer

 
 
 
Walking down a shortcut to work, I heard some children giggling. After a closer look, I saw what I could only describe as a representation yet to be actualized and a statement about a people opaque to strangers, and an argument whose conclusion could remain a statement  true to some and false to others. The children were running around without clothes and others were bathing outside like a bunch of savage creeps. And they were Africans like you and me. This sight reminded me of the unpublished image of Africa and  why writers in Africa should be part of the force that helps in ameliorating the matter.  Chinua Achebe, being a man skilled in words, thoughts and his culture unveils one of the duties of a writer as a teacher to his community. Minds in love with theories about experiential learning will eulogize his unique craftsmanship in presenting the internal monologue of his characters, the interpretations they have of the external world, the laws that rule their actions and the origin of their morality or conscience in novels like things fall apart , chike and the river and ants hills of the savannah. In things fall apart , Chinua Achebe does this concretely with humor,integrity,authenticity and completeness to a point that any reader new to African customs will inherit an african experience just from reading it.   In things fall apart , the weakness of Okokoo was not spared or hidden in the name of representing Africans as a people of strength and wisdom but exposed to draw a line of authenticity through him , making Okokoo not just an icon admired in his village but a symbol of his humanity, a character that is relatable and a personified reflections of the collective consciousness of man. Achebe's use of proverbs in this first novel of his should not only inform writers to be true to themselves but should also erode the doubts many have about the logic behind the English language and their fear of losing meaning to english readers in attempting to manipulate the language creatively to suit their context.  Like wealth, there is no need to share your meaning with everyone ; if it was so the gods will not keep secrets from man. Pardon me for injecting my nurtured proverbial instinct I have from reading too much of Chinua Achebe if you don't understand.






In Ghana we say " If you know , you know!" when a message should be obvious to someone but it isn't, meaning you are not the target recipient of the message if you don't understand. In other words, the language African writers must use in representing their culture  should maintain all it's attributes even in translation if we as writer seek to educate the youth and preserve our culture as teachers disguised in print.   Another taste of truth that elucidates the perils of choosing the denotational meaning of words over the connotation meaning in cultures when writing in English is the fact that people of different cultures never find humor in the same things. So what is the point of feeding a lion foofoo or giving a lamb pork? Questions like "Does he spoke English correctly?" by Jennifer from  the Nigeria series Jennifer Diary better characterize archetypes that Africans will find interesting and can identify to since English is not our language rather than its translation "Is he fluent in English?" imposed on the same speaker in the name of communication.  Examples of moments in things fall apart where the narrator presents an authentic African voice is when the narrator says " The child had been declared an ogbanje"Ogbanje is a word unfamiliar to people ignorant of Nigerian glossaries or vocabulary, yet it is able to function as a suspense device and positions the narrator as embedded with his native tongue.   A writer who will describe an ogbanje as a child who dies at birth but shows up again in the same womb and keeps showing up until his or her iyi-uwa is destroyed, might have given a denotation that is synonymous to ogbange but has also repositioned his narrator as someone without an African voice, Specifically Igbo voice, or someone talking to a non-Nigerian audience.  A popular proverb in things fall apart that illustrates the African voice of Chinua Achebe is "Men have learned to shoot without missing their mark and I have learned to fly without perching on a twig".  Clearly, the ambiguity of this statement is resolved in the context. And there is no need for the writer to interpret when it's meaning can be deduced by the reader unconsciously.  In anthills of the savannah, "I go cook you nice pepper soup." , '"I beg make you no flash light for my eye." are examples of expressions  and voices whose humor might have been diluted  had they been translated in the English language thoroughly. This brings me to a language we all use that demonstrates the value in miscommunicating while communicating to our target audience . A lot of people still struggle with some of its acronyms and abbreviations when they find themselves in new groups. I'm talking about social media.  Social media didn't just shape how we communicate; it also shaped the roles of writers in  the modern world. Imagine being on a platform full of different voices , circumscribed by a million strings of arguments, a thousand opinions without merit and lies colored as truth or truth hidden in the silence because of its unpopularity or the screams of rumors.  It can be daunting piercing your writing pen through this  but if the pen is mighter than the sword it's not because it's sharp. It's because it can control the minds of anyone if used skillfully. Writers are leaders whose opinions still guide us here whether they are alive or dead. The trouble with Nigeria according to Achebe is not the lack of resources but specifically how the country is governed. This statement he made was like a thought dropped in the minds of students by a teacher or a rebuttal to those who believe the resources in Nigeria were not enough per the population. Striking a cord like this to ignite minds of individuals  with the intellect, talent or capability to impact the economy positively is a mark of great leadership that the modern writer must earn to command his community , be it on social media , in his country, wherever he or she finds himself. For influence is not just about being a true member of your community but also having something to say especially when dilemma paralyzis reason and action. 






The stories writers tell ought to function as a pool full of ideas in the consciousness or memory of the reader, supplying him or her thoughts beyond their usual cognitive abilities, crystallized as bombs waiting for the right situation or problem to explode freely, saying " At last You've found something to do with me other than keeping me in your memory since you read me."  Since the quality of actions depends on the mind that invented them , the researcher's hat of every writer ought to be on his or her head before thinking to avoid bad writing. Impersonating Chinua Achebe , he would have backed this by saying, "The world is like a mask dancing. If you want to see it well, you don't stand in one place." Put on your hat . Talk to somebody about Africa, talk to someone about your subject matter, travel, jump into a snake hole . Find out what's in it. Learn some dance moves you only see. Put your arrogance in your pocket and act ignorant like a true student of philosophy. You will be amazed at what you will find. Who knows ? Your look might be the new fashion trend . Everyone might just be wearing that hat of yours in search of your thoughts to help them . Your concern should then be how to keep your  writing license after . Whether you are shaming your government or some people, or reminding the world of values forgotten  , without a hat what do you know ?    The writer as a guide instead of a dictator  One of the challenges most journalist face as narrators is telling a story from the point of view of their subject in words that telepathize their mood or emotions, answer questions the audience might have about them and express their state of mind objectively without exaggerating their world view or sensationalizing their narratives. Interpreters or words that suggest subjectivity or speculations should be carefully stated as such in reminding the audience of the biases that might hinder the path they travel from their present state of consciousness to a past presented to them by the subject or the journalist. Obviously, writers might fail in executing this if they are unaware of how their own knowledge of the subject   shapes their narratives or how the structure of a text suggests meaning. Hence showing how events unfold and enlisting the actions of characters in quotations and directness pops his head out as a way forward in striving to overcome this rather than engaging in arguments about misrepresentation and representations.  Chinua's quote about Art being a constant effort of man in creating a reality from that which is given to him also shoots out from behind. But if we as African writers seek to validate ourselves as a people of greatness and children bestowed on earth by a deity that exist and partakes in our affairs,  then there must  be a reality that we envision as true and real to all of us , not some of us in the first place. No wonder Chinua portrays the beliefs of Okonkoo and his people as a reality shared collectively by all members of the village before the perspective introduced by the missionaries confused  the hearts of some of them . The existence of these gods was not totally undermined by them even after. Thus, the reader can deduce from the text that the superstitious nature of the people was not as a result of foolishness but justified by past warnings from their gods.
Thus placing two pens in the hand of Achebe, one for writing arguments against Christianity and the other for writing arguments against worshipping other gods, establishing his narrative as one of an objective nature.   In other words, it's not about who represents the culture of our people since some writers are skilled at the task yet lack the knowledge in doing it and there are those who know the culture yet lack that know-how in representing them. It's about how the narrative is presented .  In Chinua Achebe Anthills of Savannah, the novel is dialogue driven and arguments on both sides of the truth had been given a fair hearing before the readers. The verdict is then up to the reader. This puts the interpreting lens in the hand of the reader and not the writer.  With this in mind, you will agree with me when I say any writer with a good understanding of linguistics , logic and talented deserves the license to represent a people he knows nothing about provided he can use techniques like the one used by Chinua Achebe in structuring his narratives objectively. His only milestone in this sense will be contextualizing the events and actions with it's ambiguities without using interpreters or descriptors that function as interpreters and learning about the language of the people.  
 I would like to conclude by summarizing the roles of a modern writer as a man with five hands. One for teaching his past and projecting a possible future , the second for representing meaning and himself authentically, another for moderating arguments and planting good ideas while directing thinking, the last two for shaping narratives and representing knowledge or perserving them. The hope of Africa is in how we represent our selves and our knowledge. Not the man who knows of them . For he can only know that which you show him and never the meaning conceded in them. And if knowledge is recycled for the better so must some of our primitive customs if they are counter productive per our vision. Publish Africa today in what you do. The world is waiting to see if what they have heard of it is true.

Sunday, June 23, 2019

The play that went right


 
“Not again. If he doesn’t come, not only will I stop acting, I’m not singing again." Nii vowed, after hours of waiting for Papa.  Unfortunately, Papa was in traffic.  The question is how would Nii know . And even if he did, it was Papa’s problem, not his.  Because no one forced Papa to make any promise.  He promised to come to Nii’s play even though he knew how busy his life was.  “I don’t care if it’s a play by Chigozie Obioma, or a play by Tyler Perry, if he doesn’t show up, this will be my last performance. “ Nii warned, looking around for the hoe he needed for his performance.

“Don’t say that my son, “Nii’s mother worried. “Your father knows how important today is.”

“Then where is he, Mama?” Full of bitterness, Nii asked. “If he knew how important acting was to me, he would be here today.”

“I know. “ Mama agreed.  There was nothing more she could say. She had tried calling Papa but he refused to pick or even call back.

“This is sad.” Nii’s brother said, considering the number of hours it took Nii to dress up as a farmer.

  Minutes later, mama’s phone rung.  Though she expected the one calling to be Papa, it was just Mansa. A nobody.

“Nii, it’s time.” The director of Nii’s play informed him, offering him a hoe. “Here, use this hoe and remember who you are. You are the best farmer I’ve ever had.  Wherever your father is, I’m sure he is proud of you. “

“Do you have someone to play the masked father in- law now?”

“Yes. So just hurry up. Everyone is waiting for you on the stage. ”


On the stage,  next to Nii stood a man in a mask . He was supposed to be a father in law in the play and lots of people were seated just to see  both of them act . “Don’t think I’m fooled by your mask“, Nii said, just like he rehearsed. “I know who you are.  I’m not going to give up because of you.” It was now the turn of the man in mask.

“Have you considered that my daughter here is a soon-to-be pharmacist?”

“Yes, Sir “

“Have you considered that she is now completing her bachelor’s in pharmacy and will proceed to do her MPhil in the UK?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you considered young man, what kind of future you, an unschooled farmer, will have with her?”

“ Yes, Sir.”

“Then you must marry her.”  The masked man finally said, removing his mask. He was Papa.

“My God, Papa!” Nii screamed, forgetting he was on the stage and supposed to be in character.

“Yes , my son.”

“What are you doing in my play?”

“I told you I will keep my promise.  Didn’t I? Do you believe me now?”

Thursday, May 23, 2019

I know what is wrong with my sink

 
 
 
ACT I
SCENE 1- DAVID’S- BEDROOM - MIDNIGHT
It’s dark . The Lights are now suddenly back on . We see a woman. Her arms are
crossed over each other and she is wearing an angry look on her face.
Next to her , a man .  He is snoring in bed and the woman stares angrily at him. Finally she shakes the snore out of him .

LUCY
David!!! David!!!

DAVID
Not again. What is it this time?

LUCY
It’s nothing to be angry about. It’s just a simple question.

DAVID
What kind of simple question needs answer at midnight?

LUCY
I don’t know .

DAVID
I see. Come on . We both know what this is . You just want to tell me how much you love me for getting you a new car...well, you don’t need to...because I didn’t steal the car. I purchased it ...Can I go back to bed now ?


Lucy opens her mouth in shock.


LUCY
Oh my God !You purchased it ?


DAVID
Of course, I bought you the car. How did you think I did it?

Then Lucy burst into tears.




LUCY
( Crying )
Coward . I should have known it . You never do anything special for me. What was I thinking?

DAVID
Come on Lucy. You don't have to pretend you are sad. You have a car now . And for the record, I try my best to do special things sometimes for you. Unfortunately, they always turn up to be special only to me .

LUCY
What’s so special about buying me a car. Everyone  buys me a car. You should have stolen it .

Then she continues to cry.

DAVID
Stolen it? ...Maybe another time , my love . Another time. A crime of Passion is just not what I do .

LUCY
What ?  You think burglary is a crime ?  I know what you are doing. You don't love me but you don't have the balls to say it. There is nothing wrong with stealing for love. It's an act of kindness. And it's injustice to jail people for loving.  Everybody knows that . ...Everyone but my boo.

She grabs a bottle of liquor and takes some shots.

DAVID
Give me that.

David grabs the bottle from her.

LUCY
You are not my doctor. Give me that bottle.

She grabs the bottle from David.

DAVID
...You are going to kill yourself, Lucy.

 LUCY
It's better than living with you.


DAVID
You know I love you.

LUCY
More lies . More lies to prove you care . You don’t mean
those words. When are you going to sacrifice for love ?
When? When are you going to lose something to love like others do ? lose property ! Lose a leg. loose your mind for Christ sake. Lose something for the one you love. It’s not a crime if you steal a car for me to prove you love me. Who cares if it is? It’s out of love ; people in love do whatever they want even if it’s against the law. You are not in love . That’s why You still got that head of yours screwed on.

DAVID
... Something maybe you should do instead of this. Who said you can go about loving people over the law?

Disappointed, Lucy slaps her head for dating him and now she sips another bottle of wine to console herself.

LUCY
For someone who is wise, you sound really stupid sometimes. Look around . Who hasn’t done something illegal for love before? People misrepresents themselves on dates all the time ...but no one is in court for that. Why can’t you do something bad for love? Why must it always be another man dying for love and never you? God, I hate you


Quickly, David seizes the bottle from her and takes some shot himself...

DAVID
... You are not being fair to me. That was just a coincidence

LUCY
What kind of coincidence?

DAVID
( Still drinking)
... what’s love got to do with stupidity anyways?

LUCY
Everything…just tell me why you are doing this to me and I will leave.

DAVID
Why I’m doing what ?

LUCY
I mean don’t you feel it? Don’t you want to do it?

DAVID
"Don’t I feel it? Don’t I want to do it? “I have no idea what you talking about? Don’t I want to do what?

LUCY
Can’t you see it all over the place? The signs, the energy . Am I that bad at seduction? ...or you just don't find me attractive? I mean don’t you want to rape me?

DAVID
...Rape you?

David laughs.

DAVID
Why would I want to do something outrageous as that?

LUCY
Because I’m beautiful. Because you can’t control yourself over me .Because you are in love. Oh my goodness. My husband doesn’t love me and he doesn’t even know it.

Lucy snaps , crying  once again . She grabs the bottle from David
And take some shots.

DAVID
I’ve never raped anybody.

LUCY
...but I want you to .I want to have babies, too!

DAVID
Nobody is raping anybody . I’m getting back to
bed and so are  you . Goodnight.


Then David covers his head with his blanket.

Quickly, Lucy takes off his blanket and begins to caress him.

DAVID
What do you think you are doing?

LUCY
You are my husband .

DAVID
Then respect me when I say no .

LUCY
Fine . Sleep whenever you want .That’s how you get our sink unfixed.

DAVID
Wasn't there a plumber here to do it?

LUCY
You don’t think I know that ? I need a man. I mean a plumber.


DAVID
Fine . He will be here tomorrow.

LUCY
Tell me something I don’t know.

Then she puts off the light .



Act one - scene 2
INT - DAVID's APARTMENT'S -DAY
A man dressed as a plumber stands outside the door knocking. Lucy checks herself in a mirror , changes into something that reveals her cleavages, then quickly opens the door.

LUCY
Sorry for the...Wow . I didn’t know you would be so handsome, mister plumber.

PLUMBER
Mrs Lucy ?

LUCY
Just Lucy is fine .


PLUMBER
I'm Jack.

LUCY
Alright, Jack.  I have a huge problem and I hope you have
the  tools to fix it. My sink, it's  in a mess- a really big mess.

PLUMBER
...no problem . Can you show me?

LUCY
( Pointing her bedroom)
My bad . It's upstairs. And be careful.

So Jack climbs up.


INT. BEDROOM-MOMENTS AFTER

PLUMBER
( Yells)
Madame , this is your bedroom...and I don't see a leak ?

LUCY
My bad . I think the kitchen is down instead.


Jack climbs down.

LUCY
Sorry about that . It's a new house.

PLUMBER
No problem.

Then he dives down the kitchen sink with his tools . ...and begins examining it.


LUCY
You know my husband won’t be back for sometime - a very long time.



PLUMBER
( Still examing the sink below)
Interesting . So what will you be doing all this time?

LUCY
That’s a question you can help me answer, sweetheart.


PLUMBER
Hmm ...everything seems fine here.

LUCY
I know.

When Jack pulls himself from the sink, he finds Lucy half-naked waiting for him.

LUCY
Everything is fine because I fixed it. ( Then she moves closer to Jack)...You wanna
know the sink that really needs fixing ? It's me.

Then she hugs the Plumber tightly . She offers him one of her thighs and begins to kiss him.

PLUMBER
I should be paying you after this .

LUCY
I don't want your money . Just fix my sink .

Jack notices the kitchen door still open .

PLUMBER
The door...

LUCY
I'm not expecting anyone at home ...just you . Why don't you just fix me ?  Fix me good, jack .

When the plumber undresses , someone calls out from the door . It's David.

DAVID
Lucy ...

PLUMBER
I thought you said you weren't expecting anyone.

LUCY
It's my husband...play cool . He probably must have been fired or something

The plumber quickly dresses and hides down the sink, pretending to examine it.

DAVID
Lucy , I’m home baby . ...Now where could that wife of mine be ? ...Lucy! ...Where are you baby?

Then he enters the kitchen

LUCY
David...

DAVID
Where were you ? And who is under my sink ?

LUCY
Who else ? ...It's the plumber .

DAVID
I hope he fixes the sink once and for all ...I’m
tired of having plumbers look at the same sink over and over again .
( To plumber)
What do you think is wrong with it, plumber ?

Jack pulls up from the sink to answer

PLUMBER
Ummm ...major problem with the pipes. I’ll replace those flimsy
rubber hoses with stainless steel ones and everything will be fine.

DAVID
Sounds like a good plan .

PLUMBER
I need to be back tomorrow to fix it.

DAVID
No pressure . It's your home if you can fix it .

PLUMBER
I’ll be on my way .

In a haste, Jack forgets his tools box behind .

DAVID
Hey, you forgot something.

David offers it to him.

DAVID
What's the hurry?

PLUMBER
You won't understand . She is going to kill me if I'm late again.

DAVID
Alright Jack, tomorrow.

Jack then disappears.

DAVID
So what did he fix that is so expensive down the sink

LUCY
I don't know...Why are you so home early ? Did you lose your job ?

David
What is that suppose to mean? ...can't I come home early for good reasons ?

LUCY
( Walking upstairs)
I’ll be upstairs if you need me.

DAVID
Give me a minute.

David walks into the kitchen. He turns on the sink and its working fine.

DAVID
That's a surprise. I thought he said he'll fix it tomorrow.

He looks down the sink curiously and finds an unused condom down there.


LUCY
( Yells from the bedroom)
...don’t keep me waiting, honey.


DAVID
( Confused)
What in the world is a condom doing down my sink?... I see .

Then David joins Lucy up stairs .


ACT one- scene three

INT. BEDROOM-DAYS AFTER

LUCY
(To David)
You know you were right. Can you believe that plumber didn’t show up after paying him off?

DAVID
I told you so.

LUCY
We need a new one.

DAVID
You mean you need a new man right ?

LUCY
Yes. A new plumber . The sink has started acting up again.

DAVID
I see...And what’s wrong with it this time? Too wet for you? ...or your pipes just blocked again?

LUCY
Don't play dumb with me . You saw how bad those pipes were.

DAVID
I’m sure I did. And I wonder why .

LUCY
Why do I feel like you are laughing at me instead of talking to me ? Is there something I should know ?

DAVID
Why don’t you tell me ?

LUCY
I don’t understand.

DAVID
Tell me something . The plumber we hire . How good are they in fixing your sink?

LUCY
What is this about ?

DAVID
Your sink of course . What else ?

LUCY
What’s going on, honey ? I said I needed a plumber not an argument.

DAVID
Why do we need a plumber when I already know what's wrong with the sink?

LUCY
...Well, don’t keep me in suspense. Tell me what was wrong with it?

David then shows her the condom .

LUCY
( Fakes laughter)
...Oh my God a condom !!!

DAVID
...For who?

LUCY
Well, I don't know . ...Do you?

DAVID
Why do you think that plumber never returned?


LUCY
Oh my God .... Somebody please marry me. My husband
Knows what’s wrong with my sink. Please, marry me.



THE END

Sunday, May 19, 2019

Face of a dendritch

 

It was on one of our missions to Poluim that it all started. Everyone knows Poluim. It's a city of peace and pleasure. But in November 2020, we saw Poluim without clothes.  And she didn't look pretty. The city, though with a big mouth was quite now. Its silence as an assassin's. Its beautiful buildings, entirely empty. Poluim looked dead. Even its walls, they were all covered by cob webs. There was no form of movement except ours, and this didn't make any sense. We were ordered by Davis. Why will he lie?

“Call him. I think there has to be some kind of explanation to this .”

So I did just as Justice suggested. But he never picked . After hours of frustration, I heard my phone ring. "Davis, what the hell is going on?” I asked on the phone. “If you want us dead, all you have to do is ask.”

“I'm sorry." He said ."I had no option.Kill them ! Kill all of them”.

“ Who do you want dead that is living here?"

He didn't answer.

 "Davis! " I yelled several times until I heard him. And guess what he said? Nothing . All I can recall is his scream after. It was so loud that it blacked me out.

"Max! Wake up! "

I remember hearing  a voice sinking these words down the walls of my ear lobes. It was Justice and he was examining my eyes with some kind of torch like a scientist.

“You'll live." He concluded." Whatever it was, it's not as bad as our situation."

"And what's bad about our situation? "

" You mean he didn't say?"

" Say what ?"

"This is even worst than I thought".

"What are you talking about?"

" Davis. I mean don't you remember ? "

" Who is Davis? "  I dived back into memory, thinking of people I use to know until I found him. " I know Davis. " I said to him. "We were just talking when ..."

" When what?"

"God, I think Davis is in trouble."

“If Davis is in trouble, then what do you call this place? …Paradise? Please."  Justice said, laughing at me." Look around. We are the ones in trouble...”

And he was right. Our vehicles were no where in sight. Our food , no where in Poluim. Our weapons, stolen. “ What about my team?” I asked him.

“You don’t want to know. When I say gone, I mean everyone and everything. We are the only ones here.”

 "That is where you are wrong", Joe revealed himself from his hideout- an old car in Poluim full of skulls.

“Joe?"

"In the bones and flesh."

"Where in poluim have you been?” I felt my fingers tapping on my hips , waiting for him to answer.

“Like he said,  you don’t want to know."

  And he was right .  l wanted to slap the madness out of Joe when I saw two women with no clothes walk out from his hideout .

" I'm Alice. " The first said, waving her bra at me.

 "Call me Judith.It's not my name but I like it". That's what the second said.

We discovered another surviver later on-John. So you see, loneliness was not our problem, food was. And our urge for it would have been our secret had Joe the brains to shut his mouth .

 Being a man in charge of this team, I'd say Joe was like a man without purpose. While we  were searching for food , all he found were questions to boil me up .  Questions that have nothing to do with food like these ones:
"Why do I act different because of others? Am I the people I meet? Why do different people behave like me? Is nature something possible to change? Last night,he heard them call me good. Am I really?"  I answered none of his useless questions.

"Who are we ? Deaf people ? " He said,finally deporting the patience I had from me.
 That's why I punched him in the nose. Have you forgotten what happen in Zion? We sat next to death all because of Joe. He wouldn’t stop asking stupid questions. I lost an arm in that explosion.  Look at my arm ! An AI device I’m suppose to use as a replacement? His nose, which was now broken and badly bleeding, served him right.

“Enough of this,” Justice said, separating the two of us.

 “Whoever sent us here wants us dead. Don't make it easy for him ."




We continued our journey to a building we found suitable for resting. Above it was a sign with the writing - Dan hotel. In it were chairs covered by cob webs, scattered tables, broken bottles and human bones. Lots of them . We were worried. I had to say something to restore back our confidence. But what?
I  pushed my chair aside , stood up in poise, looked each member in the eye to deliver what I hoped would be the light at the end of our tunnel, a piece of pride that will erode our fears, a picture with power that would inspire us.   “Team", I begun. "I don't know the enemy we are up against, but when I take a look at our uniform, I call into memory our past, our hard training, the voices of dead soldiers, our families, the conscience that guides our actions, the truth we create about ourselves, the spirit that lives within us and most importantly our unique mission, the ambition that unites us. We are not cowards.   We may be humans, groomed by our experiences and fears; but our identity is more than these, it’s the ideal self we hold on to when the odds are against us, the self that never changes no matter our cicumstance. We choose to survive where many have died. We choose to face our enemies even if we are blind. It’s not our successes or failures that define us. It’s our intentions. So believe with me when I say we intent to survive."

"We intent to survive", they all chanted.

“I don’t mean to be cynical. But after dumping my questions, how do you call this a plan?" Joe asked, diluting my glory deliberately .

“You want a plan? Here!” I angrily said, offering him a lacer gun. That must have shocked the devil hidden in him. No one knew I had guns. “Any one else in doubt? " I asked. But there was none." These weapons should be your skin, your clothes and your protection. " I said, offering each member a lacer gun.

“I’ll keep an eye on the women." Joe proposed, laughing."You can watch the men."

The next morning, when I counted all my faces, I realised one was missing- Joe's. He left behind a bag,  his gun, a bottle of water and a knife. Joe needed these things. So why would he leave without  them .I was confused.

Outside the hotel where I stood,  I heard a "pep" sound coming from a door .  " Everybody out now." I cautioned, quickly running from the hotel .It was a bomb and it exploded our shelter into a thousand pieces.
Who would put a bomb in a peaceful city like Podium? We all wondered, watching the hotel burn as if it was a part of us.

“How could he do this to us?” Justice cried.

“Like I said, it's our intentions that defines us. It's not what we do. ”

 We grouped ourselves in two in search of Joe . It was during this search that I noticed an unread message sent by Davis.

They are not their names we can change ours, they are not their actions , we can imitate others, they are not their culture, we can learn , but who can change his soul? Not even I.

And the interesting thing about this message was when it was sent.Before Davis called . Davis only texts when he is in trouble . Things didn't add up . One other thing that didn't add up was where we accidently found Joe as we were searching .He was still asleep, lying in an old bus, butt naked and alive .

 "I couldn't have placed the bomb. I wasn't even there. " He assured us.





From street to street , we roamed till we found a room empty of skeletons , empty of webs, a room we called ours .
I was half asleep in there,  when I heard some funny noises outside. When I was out, something rush across the building .  “Did anyone see that?" No one did.

It crossed over once again. This time into a tiny hole , and knowing there was no way out , I ordered Joe to fire it out.  I don't know if joe was blind or if his disappearance affected his memory,  but he almost shot me instead."What is wrong with you ? I quickly grabbed the weapon from him.

"Sorry."

Then I shot the creature stuck in a corner myself . It screamed and that was it.

“ Do you think it’s dead?"

 I expanded the tiny hole to find out. And it was. It was a dead dog.  Some kind of gas gradually ascended from its body in the air.

 "What do you think that is?"

Most of them thought it was just a blue gas that could move like a living thing. But Justice called it a dendritch, a creature from Mars that is capable of dwelling in any living thing, after killing its body and displacing its soul.

"It kills you and pretends to be you ." He added, "This explains life here . Everything is dead because of them. I hope that's the last of them because they can be any of us ".

"What?"

 When we were up the next morning,  three of us were gone. I couldn't find John ,Alice and Joe . The only one I saw was Justice. " Where is everybody ? " I asked him . But he had no idea.

 In an isolated building full of skeletons, that was where we found Alice . Next to her was the body of Judith. She was murdered too. Their bodies were naked and their heads were off, lying next to skulls.
"What is going on ?"  I pointed my gun at Justice.

" I didn't do it ! "he said. "But I think I know who did. "

So I followed him to an alien ship he claimed  he discovered. It was an abode full of bulbs , most of which were off.

 "There is probably three of them ." He said, after counting the bulbs that were on. As soon as we heard footsteps, we hid behind the ship. You won't believe who we saw approaching it. The man I lost an arm to, Joe and the last person I found, John. How did they know about the ship? And what were they doing in it? I peeped through an opening in the ship to see. They put their hands on the bulbs we saw  and suddenly two of them lit up.  It looked like they were drawing energy from them .

"Mess mess. " Justice signaled me, jumping quickly out of his hide out . I  got up and pushed John down knowing what he meant ,struggling with him until I shot him.  The next shot I heard was one that killed Joe.  I high- fived Justice and together we destroyed the rest of the energy bulbs. However, whatever was glowing in it continue to burn.  They were like three balls of fireflies glowing down on the floor before us. Gradually, two of them lost their glow. Then I saw two dendritchs,  drifting slowly from the dead bodies behind us ,dissapearing into space.

"Why is this one still glowing?" I asked , examining the last light. When I looked behind me Justice had his gun pointed at me. I'm not one of them, I assured him.

 "Then who is the last dendritch?"

" Think about everything." I said to Justice. "Why do you think he sent us? "



Whose head is this ?


This place is circumscribed by bars of great heights and boundless thoughts of great energy .
If i could climb to the top , I think then I would be free by the opinions of many .
But I am stuck in this madness all thinking
a mud of emotion that entangles my movement even when I'm singing .
 Whose head is this that shields me from salvation?
A room clouded by a climate of confusion and guided by a mouth skilled at deception

We ought to call different things differently , don't we ?
So what makes you an expert at labelling my desires when you don't even know me .
Love is  not acting out your feelings or expressing what's within in your language .
It's about a secret place you and me share
It's about having an invisible organ only  you and me share
It's about a hope of living eternally imprinted in our heads .
So tell me . Whose head is yours ?
You have nothing of mine .

An ocean of memories



It's the sound of the evening that keeps   you half-asleep
It's the mirror of the younger you to the older you
It's the weather that clothes your past after undressing your  present
It's a facade state of existence that we live in our existence
It's the photos of laughter and the smell of your perfume
It's the numbers on your calendar and  the numbers on your watch
It's the days of the week and the days you keep
It's all I hear when the ocean speaks.
It's all I see by the ocean or beach
When are you coming back again?
Do you know your food is as cold as it last did?
And your memory as fresh as it last did?

Unthinkable





Unthinkable, that is what I call it. It is the first tattoo I had since I came from Mayonnaise. People think of sauce when they hear us say Mayonnaise but any survival of that bloody fight knows it’s nothing more than a horrific war against wolves. Though I hate thinking about my past, because you don’t believe me, I’ll tell you.
Ten years ago, the elected major of Jamestown was found dead in his house with half his head gone and two of his organs also stolen. His wife, a woman dismayed at the incident, informed us immediately she saw his body. Bonded by our duty to protect and serve, we showed up moments after.
“What good is your dick if you’re dead? “Derrick asked as if he didn't know we were studying the body of the mayor.
“…maybe rituals”, I suggested, joining him and the other soldiers in search of evidence our murder might have left behind.

“I don’t think she did it” Derrick insisted when he saw me interrogating the mayor’s wife.
“I know but don’t you…”
“No buts! For Christ sake the woman can’t walk. How is she going to kill?” Derrick argued, making me a laughing stock in the eyes of the others.  “I have a feeling our man is still in the building.” He said. “Let’s make sure he stays in.”
After hours of search, we found nothing. So we moved out where we found what we believed to be footprints from dogs.
“This was definitely a mayhem.” insisted Derrick. “The mayor must have been running from death only to meet it back at home “. How sad! I pitied the dead mayor.
After minutes of walk, guided by those ‘dog prints’ we saw, we finally found ourselves before a tomb. From it came a howl that challenged our bravery.
“No one is going anywhere” Derrick insisted.
Suddenly we saw a pack of wolves dashing from the tomb towards us. We fired as many as we could, but they were too fast, too furious and though we were armed, they outnumbered us. Most of us died in that incident before we even had a plan to retreat.
  Despite our injured legs, we managed to reach the mayor’s house, somewhere we assumed to be safe.
While asleep that night, I heard someone feeding in the kitchen. It was the woman who told us her husband was murdered. She had transformed into a wolf and was feeding on the body of two of our soldiers she had already killed.
“Were-wolf! I screamed, waking up the rest. Though Derrick and four others died trying to kill her, I lived. After four shots from my gun, she was dead.
The lesson that day is to one to be remembered. That is why I keep this on me.  Unthinkable, it’s not just a tattoo, but a story of about me.
 

The Lady in Rhombus Necklace

Finding your soul mate can seem like a task only possible in another life time , especially if you r heart is broken and there are triggers ...