For Mummy EOO
I
His
grandfather. It dawned on him that he wouldn’t want to be like the old man, as
rich as he was. The name ‘Babatunde’ was a means of making him fill his void in
the cosmos, the family in particular. He thought of the void and what had
caused it. He thought of himself. He thought of death. He decided to drop a
name. The name. He could opt for a better one; one without meaning. He picked I. I,
for the love of its insignificance.
For the
fear of Death, he is I.
II
Insignificance.
Death attends to it like it would its converse, the consequential. I does not know. I is he who perfumes the air with the fart that must not reek; he
wishes to live and not die.
III
Wish. I
wishes death would come for him at some ninety-something years; early on a
Sunday morning and in an atmosphere drenched in showers of kinship and the resonance
of hymns.
I,
like most mortals often forgets that it is divine to grant or prohibit, human
to wish. I needs to know Armattoe.
IV
Death’s
an obedient messenger of nature, the divine... I has learnt to scream at it. ‘Enough!’ he says when death strikes
close by. This, I does amidst tongues
and Psalms of rebuke. He seems not to know that death’s no kid such as would be
scared by the sternest of orders. Rather than dart, hot urine cascading its
thighs, it waits for its moment. That moment when I’s clock would cease to tick.
V
…tick…tick…tick…tick…tick…tick…tick…tick…tick…tick…tick…
8 comments:
I like the way you wrote this post. It's so creative. What a nice represention of the idea behind it. And the link between the different parts of the post interesting to link. So short and thoughtful.
The 'Babatunde' theme is just one part of our culture that people have recently been questioning. And this one, this post, is a creative way of stirring more questions. Nice!
I'm glad you like the post, Joe. As for the 'Babatunde' name, I have not been able to come to terms with it. Maybe it's owing to the importance I attach to names.
Death is an issue that we all have to consider.
Oftentimes in nature, death's coming seems ill-timed and irreverent.
Case in point: On Black Sister's Street. We are told that that Ama dies in her nineties, Efe in her sixties and for Joyce no mention is made of her death. Even among such 'sisters' whose common experiences made them kin, death chose to segregate- it showed no respect!
Well done sir!
@Lore. A nice mini review of Chika's On Black Sisters' Street you've got there. I like the way you weave the idea of the segregational power of death around the sisters' lives. Really cool. :-)
Nice one, Ayodildo.The irony of life is that we seem to think we know when it will end. We procrastinate and make promises for the next day or even the next year while death mocks our audacity, our stupidity.
@ Lore. You have a point there. However, death won't be what it is without its unpredictability and lack of respect. It's just like you, you'ld hardly be 'you' when some attributes are subtracted from your being.
Thanks for reading and most importantly, for evoking memories of OBSS.;-)
@ Anonymous. We both know who you are, my dear pawpaw-ish one;-). Thanks for reading and dildo-ing my name.
Often wonder if there is any meeting point btw name and death or the inconsequential. Wish or no wish, the choice is not ours to dictate when, how or where we will or should die. Don't know if destiny of fate exists either, or if it has a hand in our biding. But, the only certainty in this inglorious shore is that death will come when it will and however it wishes. Name has nothing to do with our destination, life and death.
Great work bro... Babatunde, Iyabo: all mere cultural fluke, fuss and arrant fabrication. I don't believe in reincarnation. To me, death is a complete state of unconciousness and cessation of life; just as we cannot recount our experience before coming to the world.
@ John Law. Thanks
Post a Comment