Before you read;
Note: I'm not 'vexing' because of 'bole' #1500.
Life was easy, simple and sweet, till all we thought about was 'GETTING MONEY'.
Goods that once made life sweet ain't sold no more. The ones mass produced ain't got no quality (how the money wan take come?). The good ones produced are slammed such a high price the populace can't afford them (afterall, it's business. We target the rich. It's where the money is).
I remember my evenings as a child, after destroying hot eba and whatever soup, it didn't matter whether there was meat or not, we gathered and played and saw the moon bloom in full. I doubt if we know how the moon looks like again.
Children of the new age don't know what true story telling is no more. Back then, we were all authors in our various compounds. Each one taking turns telling stories we crafted in our heads in split seconds. No story was repeated twice and each one was just as beautiful as it was creative. No be now every body dey form trainer of creative writing, as though the baby needed to be taught how to suck his mother's breast milk.
I told some children about my days as a child, and they all reeled with laughter and I literally became a child with them as we journeyed through the past until we all heard the boomy voice of their dad. "Who's laughing like that there? Don't you know it's night?" Night at 8pm. Such a "Kill-joy"
"I wish we were born during your time" were the parting words of one of the kids, sad about the evening ending suddenly, but happy having lived in the past through stories I told.
I looked inwards and wished the spiraling could end, for as I sat and listened to the old men converse about their days as kids, I also wished I saw their earlier days. The way they described growing up, and how thick their milk and chocolate was, and how we don't have anything as good as it was again. The food, fun and flogging as well. Their schools and how they studied and were taught in primary schools by well learned people, mentioning some names I could only see in my dreams.
Hearing them talk of school, I suddenly remembered a hunger stricken teacher who told us, "I don't care if you pass or fail. My salary is waiting for me at the end of the month." I shook my head and sipped from my glass. I needed the sting it provided as I gulped the content hurriedly.
A sucker for memories, I was sad I couldn't extract all the juices from their beautiful flowing dialect as I struggled to keep up with their flow. A shame I can't speak my native language. "Don't speak vernacular" was a slogan to interrupt our attempt at our language. (As though they knew the meaning of the word).
Well, we could justify the change with all the grammar we can stew up. I ain't even spending one dine of my facial muscles doing a debate. We are spiraling. The direction? I'm not one to say. Let's just enjoy the ride while we can.
We can still slow down and buy 'bole' (smoked plantain for those who don't understand). That's if you have money to buy 2 for #1500, with additional #500 if you want it packaged. One somebody said it's branding, as though the stomach knows the difference.
What the heck happened to US?????????
I'm not 'vexing' o. But how much is a bunch of plantain? We haff spoil finish. All of us.
What happened to us?
- Dr. Fluid
