INDEPENDENCE
For all I know or in layman terms, all my lurid mind could ever imagine, how could a man be freed only to be bound by something far subtle that the confines of his known prison? Pardon my impetuousness, my mind is not a mirror of dullness although the brightness of its light tries to grasp how shackles could network itself beyond limit to restraint the efficiency of a man. Perhaps the picture of the festive ram with a rope of gruesome fate tied to its neck gives one a clue - on that very day as I walked the campus where it all began - my mind was a busy street as thoughts moved across in different sizes of vehicle.
When I began to inquire the taste of freedom on my virgin lips as I walked under the sun. And it's merciless rays scourged the back of my neck. I remember the slavery history of my fathers but who am I to care? Am I not free? Freed from my dad's padlock by which he withheld my liberty. I am now a student of the National University, distance away from dad's confining rule although I could not yet face the non triviality of the fact that a man wasn't born to live, he was born to die and in that manner I wasn't bound to be freed but freed to be bound up by a greater, deadlier and more difficult to defeat enemy that keeps the key to a man's thorough liberty.
It's been nine months since my imaginary curiosity collided with stern realities. Dad whom I often thought of as a terror retired from terrorism. Pardon me again, I meant his work after a month of my resumption which means no dime from home. A delightful salt was added to my sour injury when the school went on strike, our lecturers been at war with the government. Now I headed for a bush with some friends living the unthinkable life of freedom. A life that required me trekking daily to the farm, donating hectic labor on my farm with these Achaea hoe and cutlass. A life where I'm bound by the lack of opportunities in the air of the community. A life of total ugliness where I dine with poverty our common enemy like it were my close friend. My story is not so bad, at least I get to sing the songs of soaked gaari with the yellow socket within the mouth of my pale face. The freedom of my lack, day and night
© Ganiyu Taofeek
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