De Narrator

 

If wishes were horses, every child would ride for eternity. How I wished I could fly, swim, touch the sky, customize the world and make it mine – too many golden wishes I had growing up in the suburb of Lagos Island. Frankly speaking, teens and youths alike are gradually losing grip on reality, that is, if they ever had a grip on it at all. The more sophisticated the world becomes the crazier they get. Something tells me that if care is not taken, nothing-else but Modernity will tear the human world in shreds.

Humans no longer have values – we have been reduced to machines, in a seemingly competitive human-invented society, where the fierce tussle between the bourgeoisies and the proletariats will continue till God knows when. The only reality there is, is in the world we paint and not in the things we do. Most teens, unsurprisingly, cannot comprehend Reality – They live in the world they came into and not the one they would have wanted if given the chance to choose for themselves at birth – a distorted natural world void of sanity and full of absurdity. The only little sanity there is appears to be those created individually.

The earlier the attempts to uncover the veils of fantasies and ideologies and allow the younger generation to see the world the exact way it is, the more natural they will learn to become. That way, if they cannot reform their world, at least, they would stop destroying it. However, in this “famished human habitat” dreams are consumed before their birth.

Here is a wake-up call to those who have a stake in the fast emerging “next generation”. Before we begin on this journey, I wish to remind you that life is lifeless in speech but potent in dishing out tragedies. Juvenile Fantasies cannot help confront the tragedies in the realities of life; they only fake things up. I need not remind you that the world is a façade… Enjoy my string of stories!

Little Lawyer

In a country like ours, where people cry of hardship; the younger ones still do not know what it means. Though they feel it, they cannot describe it – those who manage to grasp it cannot define it…

They rise in the morning, brush their teeth, take a bath, put some food in their belly without restraints or constraints: off, they leave for school. They return several hours later for another round of food, observe their siesta – for kids of enlightened and available parents – the poor kids have got nothing like siesta; once they have something in their stomach to get them going, they head for the streets like sheep without shepherd – wake up later for another round of food as the day gradually fades and the night subtly takes over. They finally lay their heads to rest and begin to dream in their sojourn into the world of fantasy. They dream like kids in wonderland – they see it all, want it all, possess it all – only to wake up later and continue to live in their dream-world.

They return at dusk into whichever and whatever comfort their shelter can provide – big, medium, small, a flat, bungalow, duplex or even houses made of woods and thatches – do they really care? No landlord or caretakers run after them for payment of rents, no tax-collector on their throat. They are not afraid of eviction – for where their parents lead, they follow. To them, the sky is spacious enough for all birds to explore without collision.

However, hardship tells on their faces – unlike their parents, they cannot hide it, they cannot stand it; they sometimes see it, they sometimes feel it; yet, in the midst of their kind, they try to forget it. To be sincere, hardship is not in their nature.

The clothes they wear are symbols of styles in vogue; colours like those of rainbow. I sometimes envy their lifestyle, you know. I was once like them; totally dependent on my parents – laughed when things went well and cried when they did not. I was full of dreams and aspirations – I could dream all day long and achieve them all in just one sleep. If I could have my childhood back, I would not trade it for the wealth and riches the world possesses.

***

In reminiscence, I remembered the little boy I met while taking a walk along my street one Saturday evening. I was of the habit of taking such non-directional walks when confused, refused, or things were not just making sense. Prior to that evening, I had been jilted again. I just could not understand the reasons guys hardly value inner beauty. If it’s not physical and visible, it isn’t beauty to them. By their definition of beauty, I guess it must be stunning, attractive and irresistible – a lady’s W/H ratio must be proportionate. I have had enough male friends to know these things and believe when I say beauty is a beast that most guys wouldn’t mind dying for. In any case, I needed to clear my head and get him off my mind and find a way to mend the hole he left in my heart. That was when I met the little lawyer.

The little lawyer was a skinny boy – he had that strong brown eyes and a curly afro hair that gave him the look of an Afro-American. If he was an adult, I probably would have coveted him. Little lawyer was not handsome but beautiful – when a male is more than handsome he becomes beautiful. Though he had a small stature, he looked thirteen. Sincerely speaking, it was his optimism that called for attention. I was not the type that wasted time unnecessarily, but on that occasion, my curiosity just would not let go until I picked interest.

“No matter how difficult they say this country is, nothing can stop me from becoming a lawyer,” the voice sounded harsh and disrespectful but optimistic.

“Who could he be talking to?” I soliloquised out of curiosity. I turned in his direction and walked towards him. Lo and behold, he was addressing an old petty-trader – a man old enough to father him.

“Hello little lawyer,” I called in a bid to get his attention.

“Good evening, auntie” he replied with a slight bow – a healthy sign of respect. This attitude got me thinking.

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 28.07.2017
ISBN: 978-3-7438-2534-5

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