The sprawling and undulating is the all of my pen. More than a half or so, is that my antecedent sentence is similar to the first line of Wole Soyinka’s childhood memoir. Very well, I am not a copyist rather I am an imitative writer; as Horace puts it “ he is an accomplished poet who employs the real life and Greek classical writers as his models”. Wole Soyinka is my model and may the Muse bless me with pleasing words to enthuse my gentle reader.
My pen is deepened in adversity, losing all logical stance in proper context, and continuing to shower the rigorous affirmative saliva of:
to!
to!
to!
during Abala Èṣù prayers and fortress incantations on Nigeria at levels such as security, sports, economy etc. Yes, a period of crucial dislocation of what should be the main concern, conforming with the textual manifestations of Joseph Conrad in Heart of Darkness.
Many a time in our primary schools, pupils are fond of saying: “I want to be a doctor/ I want to be an engineer/ I want to be a lawyer” etc. Whenever I hear such, I often do not escape into an incredible laughter but a deep sigh of rumination. Not anymore in this hugger-mugger country where the vivacious dreams of our children are becoming dead like the doorpost. A country of developmental misreading, of collective sickness, of intellectual indifference and of political dichotomy.
My gentle reader, this is not a strategic blunder to make you sympathize with my potential write-up! I am also an educated citizen; a linguist who studied English for four years in the university. I know, for sure, that if the pursuit of learning is not defended by the educated citizen, it will not be defended at all. And so sheer critical appraisal will be put forward by those who scoff intellectuals, who cry against research, and who seek to limit our educational system.
As educated citizens, you and I know how much more there is to know. The world knows too how much there is to know. Oftentimes, we are told by lecturers that there is no research study which is new, and so, scholars in the past had taken them on. I am neither a calculated sadist nor a self-gratifying chap that the young ones or the yet-to-be-born babies should not fulfil their glorious destinies, but our attention needs to be shifted away from schools or books to productivity.
Let me tell you, they have a caucus where they talk about our heads and share the cakes and contracts. They are billionaires. To plumb the depth, they are the employers who go, not always, to check their new buildings on a pond. But oh, we are the bricklayers! We are about ninety-five percent of men and women, running up and down, admixing the granite with the cement, carrying them on heads and holding cinder blocks on hands.
Let one of the bricklayers' son write to them for a help; they will never reply! Soon, the letter is in the dustbin! And I oftentimes ask whether they read the letter at all. Of course, they did! Then, why no replies? I leave the answer for later. But, is this how we continue in a country where they have an underground tactic which in its real subjectivity and association paradoxically sanctions the very development that has filled our country with plural banalities?
(To be continued…)
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