By Veronica Nkwocha
Bitrus answered; “When all these arguments fade as time does its thing and we all pass on handing our baton to the next generation, it is posterity that will judge what strides each one of our elected leaders have made. It has a way of washing away all the dross and only the gold will remain. The yardstick that will be used will by many; how do they compare to others in their same situation, have they taken the cause for which they were elected as their primary duty or have they become distracted, aflush with the wealth of the masses and pissing in the wind? We are but a cacophony of voices eager to be heard but only the truth will remain; we turn their actions this way and that and some fiddle with the dross and hold it up in triumph, mediocrity reigns. From where she seats, posterity shakes her head, you can white wash a sepulchre but the inside will still be full of remains. May those who are working circumspect and leaving a legacy for the next generation be blessed.”
James laughed heartily, “Tori, all na story my brother, wetin all dis ya grammar come mean na?”
Okoro interjected, “Abi, no mind am, too much grammar mtcheww”, he concluded with a long drawn hiss.
James continued agreeing whole heartedly with Okoro, “Na too much book naim come be im problem, abeg give me food chop, make my pickin go school naim be my own”.
Bitrus perplexed that he could not reach them, supposing them intellectually incompetent ranted even louder.
“You must remove your gaze from your bellies and your wants and seek out the common good. Of what use is it to you if you are fed to the brim and your neighbour starves? What good is it if only your own children have an education and the rest wallow in government induced ignorance due to a lack of funding for good schools?”
They looked at him worried, both Okoro and James.
“This man don sick finish”, Okoro said and they both shook their heads with pity.
They walked away, they had only gone a few meters when they looked back and beheld a sight that had them nodding in understanding. Bitrus stood facing a wall, his book tucked tightly under his armpit, a discreet air about him. He was peeing, its trajectory directed at the base of the wall where it splattered against the dull and faded painting.
James said out loud in wonder, “This one naim be the ‘pissing in the wind’ wey im dey talk?”
Okoro shouted, “Hey, hey you dere, abi you no fit see the tin wey dem write for wall?”
Bitrus looked up at the bold and bright red lettering; DO NOT URINATE HERE.