I woke with a headache.

Was I cursed to forever live in this bauble? I recalled videos of the civil rights days. They the they of eternal fame carried signs that read I AM A MAN there can be no doubt about that now I smirked with satisfaction…….

I thought of all the great legends of our time. I thought of the loudmouth who ranted "I’m brilliant, I’m the king of the world! I’m a African, I’m the greatest".

To which the journalist standing next to him said "Not really"

He spoke for me today and forever. When you see him today, big, handsome and gentle - slowed somewhat but with a total lack of public bitterness, you know the standard against which we measure ourselves. Inspite of it all, we only wish to soak up as much sunshine as we possibly can. We know we shall need it someday....I slept off.

"Refuse to be pigeon holed". Ay-ii said to me.

"You are the greatest if you think you are because everybody else is saying audibly or not "Not really!" They will never give you a place in the sun – because you are not really there – you still are a remarkable discovery – found in the jungles of Africa and you talk!

That is the cause of all the confusion – They hate you because you are in every respect equal to them - how would humankind feel if we found a new specie of jungle cats which not only could learn Swahili, but actually think, philosophise, read and write.

You talk! that’s the author of all this endless wahala. "You see de palava now?"

They will never give you a place in the sun – so seize their sun and make it yours: beat them at their game. Beat them in science, beat them in sports, and beat them in dance and song. Only: do not do their 3 G’s: Greed, Gore, Gloating. Remember your own G’s honey-boy: Grace, Goodness, Greatness.

Who do you rather be Peacock or Butterfly?

Sometimes I do not blame the racists Ollie once had said.

"If your people had the intrinsic capability to read and write, why didn’t they before my people came?".

My brain I recalled, paused and tried to locate a perfect answer, then sputtered:

"Search me. I’ll be damned if I have all the answers…but why does the bumble bee fly"

Where did the music hide before they spread their dark brown fingers on the Yamaha and on the grand piano before that? before they put their lips to the reed, and gently blew, what did the Wilton Felder’s of Africa do?"

Nigger! Oh nigger! Why do you seem so utterly rejected by God and Mammon. What did you do wrong? –What precipitated this darkness over you.

There were pockets of light in the seats of kingdoms, but there was darkness too…mind-numbing routine, mind-numbing darkness. What caused the people to reject life so?

What caused them to accept such a life without question? Did you hurt them Lord? Did you see them cry Lord? Did you wipe their tears when they cried?

Did they cry at all? Did they not still laugh in the face of all you threw at them?

In many ways, my people were released from the bauble. Trapped we were – our situation was characterised by near stasis and oftimes mindless motions – driven relentlessly by our selfish genes who only wanted not to cease to be.

My people toiled on and on and with time, came to be like the little insects trapped  in amber for eons – only this amber was boundaried by malaria, the typhoids, and all manner of unimaginable disease – recall the jungle was conquered from the great reptiles and insects of the ages – from the beasts great and small - from the original inhabitants who were superbly adapted to that hell.

I knew of a song the Ibo’s of my village sang when adversity shook the roots of their existence. The people sang:

Onye-nkuzi (Master!)/The cold I feel insidechills me I can't decide

(Master!)

I know how your love feelsOh never from me make it flee(Master!)

I know half the things I do /are strange

But there’s no turning (back)/(For) I have crossed the bridge

(Master!)/I want heaven!/Make me strong

Let me do no wrong/Are the roses red? Are the grasses

a rolling wave of green? Are there fountains?/Do the waters run still?

Is there time to kill In heaven/We know half the things

we do are strange/But the kingdom of God has to be won everyday

I want heaven/don't let me be too weak

Oh I'd love to seek/The things we've seen

None comes close/to those we heard

I love heaven/But its far away!

So far away!

The people would sing and sing and sometimes their sorrow turned to laughter. Life indeed was tough. To their credit, they lived.

*

From Lokinanga (unpublished)