(Act 1: Scene 1) At ALIRA’s SOKOYOTO BAR:
ATAKOROWO’NUADO and ODOLAYE AREMU (two friends), sit across from one another, only separated by just a table. A hot bowl of Tuwo Masara, and Gbegiri soup is under demolition. A big keg of Burukutu sits in between the washing hand water-bowl and two huge cups of brew. ALIRA, the bar’s proprietress, sits, a few meters from them. She watches, as if to make sure, all’s well with the food, the local liquor and the hungry human ‘adversaries’ attacking the delicious intakes. A ceiling fan, stays still up above them. It is a defunct UMC brand. Only the last letter ‘C’, is visible from any sets of eyes looking from underneath it. The other preceding letters, are totally caked, hidden away from view, in black dirt and old cobwebs. The only other material of any worth, in the place is a wooden GRUNDIG STEREO System. It’s already missing all the knobs used, to tune to various frequencies. In places of the knobs, are old Soda pop crowns, with tiny holes in the middle, well cut to align within the dials, in the places where the knobs originally were, to at, the very least, work the FM/AM stations. Johnny Cash’s 1976 hit track “ONE PIECE AT A TIME” is playing. ATAKORO’s left feet, is working the melody, as his right hand simultaneously work the bowl of Tuwo. For some funny reason, the sound of Johnny’s music, can be said to be taking roots inside of him. He started to speak, even against an old personal constitution, which forbade him to speak, while he eats:
“Geriani’s ‘absurd-isms’ have totally infected her people. It’s bad enough, that anything spoken; lately, of, or about,this once potentially great Nation; or, of her citizenry; or, of her ongoings; have a believability rate that’s astounding. The State Of This Nation, has bottomed, to the point that no ill figures, datas or manufactured computations, against Her, can ever be disputed. Anything innocuous, said of this country, won’t cause anyone, found anywhere to blink or bat a eyelid. Her own people included. Geriani and Gerianians, in short spells, have become both, fictionalized entities. They seem made up, as the Eagles’s: “Hotel California!”
ODOLAYE AREMU: “How so my friend?! Eebo eyi o wa poju bayi?!
Emi lo tun ri ATAKORO?! Sa’an laarin Aje ni mu ni
P’ekoro!”
ATAKORO: (instantly slapping Odolaye’s hand, as that one attempt to morsel around, to himself a chunk of meat in the soup. He gave his greedy friend a dirty look, spat out a tiny bone, cleared his throat and continue to speak):
” …baba Wakilu, do you know, that the real truth about the directions of Geriani cannot be found with anyone alive? Do you realize that none alive can tell you anything, worthy to believe about this country, or her people again?! Iya MUSILIU, my own wife, greeted me this morning; she said: “Ba’a MUSILIU, good morning”…know what I did?! I had to crack opened the windows to see for myself, if it was indeed ‘Morning’. The ‘Good’ part of that old greeting, has ceased for a while now. All we do is Eat, (if we can), Drink, (if we can), Shit, (If we can), Fuck (all the time) and Sleep! We are Alive, but totally Dead to ourselves…
Odolaye Aremu: (he suddenly had enough of Tuwo. He gulped down his glass of Burukutu, he wanted to speak, but all he could do was stare at his friend in a strange kind of bewilderment)
ATAKORO: (continue, where he left off) ” …we have lost something, that can never be replaced again. Our humanity is gone! The only essential distinction separating Man from Animals, has vamoosed! We have proven Darwin just about right! (Turned to ALIRA, the Beer Parlor proprietress); Give me a stick of Rothmans and Matches joo!”
(Thanking ALIRA, after the procurement of his favorite brand of Cigarette and a book of matches)
“Oseun ALIRA!”
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(He continue) “Look around you, Odo…what’s working, enough to make you happy?! Look at us! We are old pensioners with no safe Haven. The thought of where I will be buried, has stopped pestering me. We walk about, under Edumare’s light. We sleep in the dark, under Man’s Evilness to Man. Imagine if Man happens to be the one supplying, Sunlight or Moonlight?! I have told MUSILIU and his brothers to allow me rot, wherever it happens. What I can’t achieve alive, I hope I shall, in my death…a heap of composite manure to feed other ‘Dead’ mouths. Maybe I can ‘butter’, the soil enough to allow them live a couple more years! I have stopped going to Church; for the many Pastors I see or hear, do nothing else, but add more to my many miseries of living. They’ve twisted the words of Comfort, to comfort themselves only. They speak to us in ways, only to make us feel dry in our pockets; then we go home, to become distressed…
Odolaye (is totally enraptured in his friend’s sudden Epiphany. Only it was not one. ATAKORO, just like any common Gerianians, have suffered long enough, to be able to communicate in a common intolerable dialect. Any Gerianian on the street suffers in total silence. Their mouths revealeth not what their minds knows, at least till now. All he could do was just breathe, and listen to his friend wax eloquently in his momentary, pitiable existence)
ATAKORO: “Our Pastors and Imams, have added more to our burdens. They’re eating from the same Pots as those at the Top. They’ve even kept huge stashes away for their children’s children. Why should they be entrusted to speak the ‘True’ words Of God? Why would any of them die flagrantly like John The Baptist or suffer for Him like the initial Disciples? Have you ever seen, or heard of a wealthy Matryr? Why not make the women susceptible, gullible, well enough to keep an extensive Harem, that stretches roundabout the Globe?! Why not make the men inadequate in their reasonings; keep the Truths far from them, allow them be all brawn and no brains? You realize, an inadequate man is a perpetual server!
The “Judiciary”, we were taught was, the “last hope of the common man”, well…maybe elsewhere, but surely not here! It’s not been that charitable, to a whole lot in the last 30 something years. Remember how DUGABA was roused from his bed, and dumped in the SAHARA DESERT?! Who did it, if not the same Judiciary?! When was the last time I visited an Hospital, or a Clinic or even see a Doctor?! Thank Edumare that I can still afford ‘APC ELERIN’ and, of course the fee of EWETOOGUN is not too harmful. After-all, a Dokita is a DOCTOR! And a Doctor is a Dokita!
Odolaye: ATAKORO! Kai! Oro lo so o! Never ever knew you harbored these much dusts in the entrapments of your mind o! Didn’t realize, that; plenty gores and horrors abound in the basement of your belly o! Yeepa! Ori mi o!
ATAKORO: (puffed in the last smoke from the Rothmans. He took his time to breathe in deep. As he exhale, the smoke filter through his nostrils, and, an efficient portion escape through his mouth, as he begin to speak again):
“Odolaye! (repeating his usual emphatic way of saying his friend’s name). The belly… (ATAKORO paused for a satisfactory effect), my friend carried, me and you once, as fetuses. Out of its abundance, ‘the mouth duly speaketh! And this one here (raised his Agbada and smacked his fleshy, protruding gut with an open palm) is filled to the brim! Our Kids have no future! Our Schools have no Teachers! And our lives altogether has no value! At my age, and as ugly as you all say I am; I can still get a girl, half my age into my, or any bed…with a lousy promise of a measure of Gaari, and that of a smartphone, or that of an handbag! Do I blame the poor girl? Hell No! Know why?! My Gaari, shall feed her and her parents for a day or two. The phone shall serve as conduits for more secretive dalliances, and I need a younger babe in my own bed every now and then. Iya MUSILIU is as guilty as the girl. I can’t question her, about those Fat Meats in our Pot, when all I give her is ASAMEEGUN money! Where does a housewife, the middle aged wife of a pensioner, have enough dough to make Dagbolu market on the regular, when she has no stall or sells nothing there?! You see my friend…we are all doomed, in this here “Prison”, of a sort, of which a release date is unlikely! We shall all die here…except for the timely intervention, by those with big balls. And Saints only become Saints in death! Tan fee ku?! They’ve stolen our Oil. They’ve stolen our lives…the best parts of it! They’ve stolen our manhoods, even womanhoods! They’ve stolen our collective dignities! They’ve stolen our Integrity! They’ve stolen the air that we breathe! They’ve stolen our lands! They’ve stolen all, they see to steal…my friend…ONE PIECE AT A TIME! And Edumare…HAS VOWED, NOT TO HELP US TILL WE HELP OURSELVES…!
***There’s no particular spot, on the world map, named GERIANI***
