This post is by my awesomely talented friend @gru_on_u, hope u like it, tweet it and leave comments thanks!
NOTE, FORWARD OR WHATEVER YOU MIGHT WANT TO CALL THIS.
Why, you’ll probably ask yourself. And a great question too, if I may say so. One deserving of an equally great reply. Or a couple, in my case:
I’ve never done this before , at least not on this, scale .
1. I’m trying to impress a certain person (like she wasn’t impressed enough)
2. I’m quite scared the finished product will be a hot mess and lastly
3. My laptop’s battery is fast draining away thanks to the ever timeless ‘un-timeliness’ of PHCN , or NEPA ,as us 90’s babies would prefer to call it . (I mean ,what the deuces is PHCN !? Other than a mouthful of gangly consonants in one’s mouth ! Makes me think of gurgling mouthwash…)
But I digress . I did tell u I was nervous ?
So, a certain art to prose writing or writing exists that many a Nigerian aspires to but sadly lacks. Not ‘cause they’re stupid (no, God no), or brain-dead, or possessed by the devil or shat from the rear end of the common African gorilla …… but simply because that mystical ingredient , that food of the gods ,joy of muses past and bane of said muses wives (because their husbands would never shut up and attracted too much ‘local shampion’ female attention) , is missing .
Not endless education or a keen ear towards history and folklore, but the sheer ear-sweetening ability to spin a yarn ,tell a tale ,hold any audience captive, make eyes misty and hearts swell ,even convince God Himself that HE really didn’t plan to mold man in HIS divine semblance !
(Yes, it can do that too) .
Raw talent, I tell u!
I can see you disagreeing with me already; sat there in your cozy living-room , or laying in your bed with only a kerosene lantern to see by (do people still use those ?) while swatting the miniature fighter-jets we call mosquitoes in Nigeria , or passing the time till your boyfriend finally ceases his nightly 7-minute grunting and rolls off you ( chei ,women suffer) .
Well, I suppose you think our fore-fathers went to school in the morning ,raptly attentive to elder Kolabaje’s insights on punctuation and tenses and proper grammatical structure, feather quills stuck in their mouths ,eyes all glazed over (my misplaced version of our culture) and then went home in the evenings to their village gatherings and told stories till women writhed in fits of pleasure around the fire, men beat their chests in courage and the children dreamt of joining Prince Caspian or thunder throwing Sango on the Dawn-Treader or kissing a diamond-skinned vampire in plain sight of a werewolf boy (feel free to insert the fairy tale that works for you).
Well , I’m here to tell you they most certainly did not ! You were either born to it or not. Simple as. Therefore ,I suppose this forward is an attempt to divine ,whether I may count myself among those lucky few and thus attain god-like status and have humans weeping in gratitude ,women raping me in shopping-mall toilets, the general populace queuing feverishly for my next blockbuster . Or call it a humble plea to you, dear stranger, to go easy on me for any imperfections you find contained in the tale that follows. Stephen King wouldn’t beg you sods but last I checked ,I hadn’t written over 40 best-sellers ,engineered myself into an accident in one of my own novels OR had my books adapted into movies .Levels pass levels .
On that note, I bid you welcome to my mind. Find within, an endless kayak ride, a carousel of delight ,where sugar-stuffed kiddies goad gravity into ending them ,super-novae occur hourly ,fish play chess and Jesus never wept. Welcome!
P.s. @gru_on_u , Chapter 1 coming soon!