Thursday, October 4, 2012

Satires & Dreams: The Debate (Part 1)

5...4...3...2...1

The moderator cleared his throat noisily, adjusted his bow-time, patted down his well-kept afro and repositioned his geeky spectacles perched on the tip of his nose. "My swagga dey too gbaski", he hummed to himself. Noticing that the studio felt rather 'quiet', he looked up and mumbled, "Emmm...Are we on air". The frantic gestures of the camera man snapped him back to reality, he switched on his Denzel Washington mega watt smile, replacing the smirk he had on his face while switching to his polished Channel O accent...

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the show and thanks for tuning into this year's presidential debate. Let me remind you that this is the final chapter in our debate series, previously we had gathered all the opposition party leaders to debate and you our faithful viewers picked the winner to challenge our beloved President. We move at the speed of light so without any hesitation allow me to introduce our first contestant..."

Moderator flashes another Denzel smile, shuffles a few papers on his table and reads off the accomplishments rapidly...

"The leader of the opposition party is a fire-brigade, well-spoken, Havard educated young man with a vision to restore the economy of our country to the standard our colonialists envisioned. He is the last man standing from the previous debates and I can tell that he is fired up and roaring to go. Please welcome Mr Razaq Amabo..."

Cameras pan to an immaculately dressed young man in a 2 piece double breasted black suit, he flashed a smile and waved as he assumed his place at the podium.

" And finally, the man we have been waiting for, the one and only, most learned, most respected, ever vigilant, ever active, ever progressive, most loving President in the world. He doesn't need any introduction, he has walked into our hearts navigating from a boy born with no shoes to a man in Louis V, please join me as we stand and welcome our leader, President Joe-Swagga Lucky..."

Cameras pan to the President as he walks on stage, flanked by 4 mean looking samurai-type bodyguards. The President is dressed in a dark colored french suit and as he walks majestically to the podium, the moderator prostrates flat on the ground in greeting, smiling and mumbling "good evening sir" repeatedly. Razaq Amabo looks at the spectacle before him in mild bewilderment and disgust and shakes his head.

After the commotion had died down, the moderator now back to his normal charming self, launches into the rules of the debate. The opposition party leader must answer each question first, he says and then the President follows up with his answer. Razaq objected at the unfairness of the rules since it favored the President, but he was hushed by one of the samurai bodyguards who glared at him. President Joe-Swagga was relaxed all through, beaming smiles at the camera, "go on my boy", he said to the moderator.

Then the debate started:
Question 1: How do you propose to fix the economy

Razaq Amabo: Let me be clear, we'll start by trimming the federal expenditure and cutting down the budget and expenses going down the drain in supporting our bloated government officials. We have to tackle this issue from the root, we can't create jobs if the people in charge are not transparent, I plan to ...

Moderator interrupts Razaq in mid-speech, smiling while yelling "time up"

Razaq Amabo: But I have'nt spent a minute, I'm still trying to answer the question.

Moderator: Your time is up sir, please give our President chance to address the issues you raised.

Razaq Amabo: Mr Moderator, I have a feeling that your actions are biased, I don't...

Moderator cuts in angrily...

"Abeg no dey insult me, na you dey pay my salary?"


Turning to the cameras again, he smiled and announced:
"Now, let's hear from our beloved leader".

President Joe-Swagga clears his throat, glances around, almost as if he was unsure of his surroundings, "eh, what was the question again?" he queried.

Moderator: How do you propose to take care of your people sir?

President Joe-Swagga: Simple, everything Mr Razaq said. Plus, I just spoke to the President of Apple, Mr Steve Jobs and my people have been working on a new patent with him, we are going to create 1 million jobs when we release our new technology in this country.

One of the bodyguards walks over to the President and whispers for a few seconds in his ears...

President Joe-Swagga: I've just been informed that Steve passed away. May his soul rest in peace. I hereby declare tomorrow as public holiday in his honor.

Moderator: So what is this new technology, Mr President

President Joe-Swagga: Well, we are going to release the BBi-Phone 7, a new iPhone with BBM pin so you can ping your friends as you vote. My government will be giving out a new BBi-Phone7 to our 'loyal' supporters at the polling booth on election day...

Moderator (looking at the screen in excitement): What! Oseeeeeee!!! People, you know who to vote for! Swagga for life!

Razaq Amabo (angrily): This is preposterous!

To be continued...

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Be Your Man...

He stood nervously beneath the shade of the large udara tree, fidgeting and twirling a twig in his hands absent-mindedly. Around the base of the tree, you could make out the matrix of footprints in the ground, tell-tale of his frequent pacing as he rehearsed his love notes. Up above, the skies were clear and the clouds resplendent in white and shades of tainted light blue, while the birds chirped merrily oblivious to the rapid heartbeat of the love-struck young man beneath them. The cool breeze was soothing against his skin, almost whispering soft encouragement to him, but he barely noticed it, his mind was far away, floating on stormy tides as he sought to gather his composure...

The previous night he had stayed up by the warm glow of the lantern, crafting the words together. And he had felt so composed and confident as he poured his heart out on paper, his feelings and love magically transformed into ink as the words he wrote painted the inner beatings of his heart. Then it had seemed like a very good idea and the excitement had kept him up, his spirits floating joyously like Cupid. He had carefully brought out his best clothes; a pair of khaki shorts and a china-white shirt that he saved only for special occasions...

His arms still hurt from the energy he expended in ironing the shirt, the gators stood out so sharply on the shirt, for a moment he wondered if it would cut her skin when they hugged. "Chineke, what was I thinking?" he muttered in panic as he tried to feel the edge of the shirt. Too late for that, he thought to himself, she would be here in a few minutes. He still remembered the first time he saw her by the stream, it was many years ago but the memory still caused his heart to skip a few beats. He had been so tongue-tied by her beauty that all he could manage was a grunt which passed for a hello...

His mind drifted into daydreams, a wistful smile on his face. He was an interesting sight to behold, a young man with his hands in his pockets beneath a large tree in the middle of the clearing, his bicycle resting against the base of the tree, with a bunch of flowers tied to the bicycle. In his mind all he could see was the mischiveous sparkle in her eyes when she smiled,  the fullness of her lips, the v-cleft where her graceful neck met her collar bones, the bronze chocolate lustre of her skin, the smooth and fluid curves of her body...just then he was snapped out of his reverie by the bleating of a goat. He jerked himself out of his daydream, alarmed that he had lost track of time. He noticed the goat looking at him with a funny expression as it chewed on something, he picked up a stone and flung it near the goat to drive it away, 'can't let a goat spoil this romantic setting', he thought to himself.

A few minutes later he could hear her footsteps approaching, he could always tell because she had an elegant way of walking pretty fast, almost like an angel floating on land. He took a deep breath, braced himself and got on one knee, his heartbeat was as loud as the towncrier's gong on Nkwo market day. He wanted her to see him on his knees with the flowers in his hands as she came into view. That was how he read that men were supposed to propose in the English books, so even though they were in the village, he was determined to be romantic. He reached for the flowers he had tied to the bicycle and discovered they were gone, panic shot up his mind like the sour taste of the udara fruit above his head. "I kept it right here", he screamed in his mind, the sweat had begun to break out on his forehead, she was almost there.

He had written his proposal on a note he attached to the flowers and he had planned to read it to her so she could understand how much he loved her, now the flowers and the note was gone. He looked around in despair and got on one knee neverthless, his thots in disarray, trying to figure out what happened to the flowers, and struggling to recall the words he had written in the note. Just then she walked into view, stunningly beautiful in the bright afternoon sunshine, a warm smile lighting up her face and radiating around her. He could feel his heart melt with love, though he didn't know how to express it into words. As he waited on one knee for her to approach, his mind searched in frustration for the words he had written on the note...then he remembered the goat...