(The Raji Rasaki Swansong)
There were bridges and there were
Gadas!
I suppose bridges were the ethical, senior cousins
of Gadas!
A Gada could be made of slender planks,
rolls of slippery bamboos roped together
and the lasting ones could be made of cinderblocks
dipped in the audacious juice of concrete.
Any fool thrown a fresh lifeline,
away from drowning in the intoxicating rivers of
Burukutu or Sekete could build anyone a Gada
made of Diamond or Gold.
Where Gadas are dated slaves of the finicky elements,
Diamonds are forever and,
Gold, of a certainty-stays forever Golden!
A Gada was the shoddy, lowly-bred, demented
replacement for a strong, Thorough-bridge.
It’s what we got, when Honorable Lokulo
dug-up dirt and finished his own home with the community dough dedicated to building a bridge.
The Gada’s meant to be an emergency
passageway but eventually became a permanent fixture- when we all kept mute.
And It lasted generations with not a recourse to Change!
A Gada never could stand any quality test!
the concrete one at Odo-Ona Elewe Road withstood raging storms, ploughing trucks, but lost ground under the rampaging feet of some Abe Technical schoolkids looking to kill one Head Teacher called OSULA!
The concrete ripped and the “R.I.P OSULA” written in
bold, white chalk on both sides of its facade
ripped apart with it like the fallen letters on a rented garment!
There was a long, “planky” one
connecting Inalende with Ode-Oolo.
Another one stretched over the Kudeti “abomination” River like a lazy, half-hearted Alligator lounging in the open sun.
A scary, anorexic one
lent its slim weight unto heavy carriages somewhere around Lalupon.
There was a cannibalistic one that fed only on souls.
It quenched its thirsts, and preferred only blood over water at Asejire!
One stood like a rickety Rickshaw over a deep, trashy moat between Bode and Molete.
The rickety Rickshaw led only few unto safe ground and the rest, it plunged into deep hell!
The Gada, my friends was the ultimate playground for thrill-seekers.
A meeting spot for Abikus, Ogbanjes
and other kinds frolicking with Death-Wish.
The expendable Gada is what’s become of a Nation meant truly to be a lastingThorougbridge.
We’ve been shortchanged!
We’ve been given a bamboo Gada,
when we’ve paid fully for a lasting concrete Bridge!
Nothing to do with PMB or his Change metaphor.
The Change is still Changing!
I know it!
I firmly believe in it!
Won’t change my mind ’bout it!
for I know he’s getting back our Bridge money someway, somehow!
This is more about RAJI RASAKI,
and his legendary uncouthness.
A lot more about the efficacy of uselessness.
A bit more about proffering short term solutions to long term situations.
I still could hear him sometimes in my head, as the Big-Man reportedly
paced “upandan” in crisp, extra-large military fatigues.
The elaborate bulge in his gut, stood him out like a house with a massive rotunda.
The colorful feathers flailed gently
about the sundown breeze in the front of his Army beret.
His pant-legs neatly tucked into shiny,
swollen-toe combat boots while
holding a swagger-cane.
He stood midway on a hollowed-Gada; that he, the big-man of a lousy authority with silly theatrics “thought” was a Bridge.
“WHO BUILD THIS GADA?!”
Those that were there, reported back that he rabidly yelled.
The artwork “GADA”, done by my good buddy Dr. Lanre Okunola baba Mutalubi!
