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Nothing to talk about

By Tony Afejuku
12 November 2021   |   3:55 am
I don’t know what readers may or will make of my title today. So many happenings have occurred and are occurring everywhere about us in this country today.

Sanwo-Olu (middle) at the Ikoyi collapsed building. photo/facebook/facebook/jidesanwooluofficial

I don’t know what readers may or will make of my title today. So many happenings have occurred and are occurring everywhere about us in this country today. There are so many things, so, so many happenings in your country my country our country calling for the columnist’s attention which the columnist should address illuminatingly forthwith without qualms. Yes. Yet I am saying that there is nothing to dwell on, to talk or write about with aplomb.

Ideas upon ideas are floating and galloping in their trains in my head and in my mind in their proficient qualities. The ideas are making words pliable and radiant and translucent and clear in their unity of illuminating mutualism and agreeable symbiosis of symbols of un-rapturous realities of our time. How I express what I am feeling and seeing in my column now is the bane that is more than my bane at this point in time. I am in pains to say, to express, what I want to say, to express what I want to express. I am in pains because I am experiencing inspirations that are not inspirations.

So many things are happening, so many tales are being told, so many ideas are popping in and out about this and that, but my inspiration to dwell on each and all of them is on the wane. The ardent and lively interest or eagerness that defines or that should define me as an enthusiast is tossing me overboard. In fact, events in the land have pooped my inspiration – as owners of American slangs would say.

But I must write and mention some of them or one of them even without rapture. And every reader and all discerning readers in this country and abroad should follow me even un-preciously and exiguously. So let me toss off this column today to my readers some of whom may nod their heads with a sigh.

One big news and event that is keeping tongues wagging today pertains to the twenty-one storeys edifice which thundered down in Ikoyi, Lagos a few days ago. The Gerard Road-located edifice owned by Femi Osibona of Fourscore Homes Limited, Mr. Femi Osibona’s highly lucrative company, was a dream of dreams that would engender number-less ideas relating to magnificent living-in structures in high-brow locations. The late conceiver and owner of the building of buildings everyone has been giving tongue to, was in his immaculate white outfit on the Sunday immediately before the Monday that saw the building go down dancing rapturously. A video of the dancing session I saw showed him on the top-most floor or so in prayer and shaking of his body with the “grace and sweetness” of a man of impeccable worldly success. Some prayer-warriors and preachers and presumably pastors of so-and-so church or ministry graced the occasion of the exceedingly joy time and sweet session to which the late Femi Fourscore invited them. But the next day, the very next day, Femi Fourscore was dead. He did not see his numbered dead-end on his dancing day. None of the preachers and fellow dancers saw him leaving them forever the very next day. There was no prophet among them; there was no genuine prophet of the Most High among them. Even if there was one on the highly high dancing floor of the waiting-to-be-completed edifice, his prophetic eyes and sight were blinded by the Most High. What a mystery? What must be must be. (But I don’t want to talk about this beyond this point if I can help it.)

Was Femi Fourscore’s departure at the time he did despite his kind of final attempt to ward off what he probably knew was coming to him ritualistic? Was his mysterious departure in accordance with how or how not his wealth visited him? If we count how many innocent and un-innocent persons perished with him in the primes of their lives, we cannot but ask questions upon questions. And Femi Fourscore was a pleasurable young man who made his money and wealth at an exceedingly young cycle of the young. What grace of the Lord smiled and loved him so well to bless his hands and works of wealth that is wealth or of wealth that was wealth as Femi Fourscore wished and willed it? The answer to this question is in the womb of mysteries. His members and friends in their presumably Special Spiritual Circle (SSC) may disagree with me. But I won’t talk more than this about my inkling on this score… Oh! God works in mysterious ways …. His wonders to perform! I remember this song I used to sing with rapturous rapture!

Wait a minute. The news has since filtered in that the late stupendously rich and wealthy young man’s wife and four children who have since flown to Lagos from their base in the United States of America are fighting mightily with the siblings of their dead bread and butter winner and giver over some of his left-over money and choice cars and all what-not in their sight. If this news is allegedly true, it captures accurately and very sadly the era of wickedness that is our era. Nothing restricts many of our country-men and countrywomen from evil and its borders in this dreadful era. We have been talking and screaming ceaselessly yet disastrous disasters happen day in day out. And nobody cares, be he/she a pastor or government official.

One lesson we should learn and re-learn over and over again is that no one, absolutely no one, should call himself or herself lucky until his or her death-day. The other lesson is that no matter the substance in our wholesome brains all the partitions therein cannot open for us to see and know what we wish and itch to see and know with enthusiasm. Thirdly, on the day of death there is no medicine, there is no ritual, there is nothing, absolutely nothing, to steer death away.

If one does not die on his death-day, his death-day has not come or is yet to come. I am not dwelling on this matter with any enthusiasm. I have not dwelt on this subject with any modicum of enthusiasm because it has not tossed my heart into any kind of rapture. This is nothing for me to talk about now with spiritual or worldly radiance because we never learn and we will never learn. I merely compelled my waning imagination and inspiration to focus on the mysterious owner of wealth that one mysteriously, youngish young man’s acclaimed power of mysterious wealth and mysterious death that have made an impression that should not have been made in my mind at this period and point of my existence on this earth-plane – of meaningless meaninglessness, as some persons might say. Are the Supreme Spiritual Masters of Merit giving their nod to this remark I am not yielding under any kind of enchantment? I don’t know what my colouring imagination, inspiration and hallucination will say in answer to them.

Afejuku can be reached via 08055213059.

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