By Chuks Iloegbunam
WE’VE just returned from Sunday Mass, our minds burdened by the imponderables of yesterday, the vaunted day of general elections!
We are impelled to march forward to the recent past. When the bloke tossed his khaki uniform and donned the politician’s toga, he got himself invested with a sobriquet: Mai Gaskiya!
Mai Gaskiya is Hausa for the Honest One. It could mean the Truthful One. Even the Principled One. And the Decent One.
It’s quite a deadweight of hypocrisy to weigh down the shadowy figure of The More You Look, The Less You See! It is the epoch of “Read my lips; pay scant attention to the lingerings and wanderings of my itchy fingers.”
Now, what has Mr. Honest Truth Principle Decent (HTPD) said about yesterday’s reenactment of the electoral rape of two shattering weeks ago?
We all know that silence deafens. But deafening silence is also a high sensitivity microphone that crashes through multiple loudspeakers to proclaim the truth that the dishonest, false, unprincipled, and indecent flank would rather is buried in vaults of iniquity.
Hold my hand, Brother, so I continue to stand. I will give you every support, Sister, so your shoulder never bends. Remember the saying of the Solomons: Only after the completion of the marathon would there be time enough to calculate the distance actually covered.
I leave you with that love that is of the vintage of 1 Corinthians 13. While you luxuriate in its empowering and overpowering ambience, I also leave you with “Harlem,” that poem of relentless impact and import by Langston Hughes.
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over—
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?