Cemetery Fence

A fictional representation of Leadership Crisis in Nigeria 3. A Boring Landscape  From the junction right there at Oghenyen Road, Idumhebor, his eyes were momentatily riveted by a view of the Baneke Central Market. It was nested on several acres across from Mission Road. He also saw behind the market structures, the palace and its colonnades he remembered were thought to be the tallest of any palace in Bendel state. But the streets were almost empty of people. Baneke was shapeless and colourless. He had already noticed this flatness during his travel. He remembered now as he looked at the empty streets. Most of the towns and villages he had traversed were scantily populated. But Baneke was the worst of all now. He hadn't found people except in the school he passed along the way. Only a few Ogogoro sellers and their clients in dingy shacks were to be seen along the streets. Yes, in some dilapidated houses that appeared to be colonial structures, he saw some people to...

A fictional representation of Leadership Crisis in Nigeria 2. Loneliness  The breeze was blowing really good and cold. And the weather was filled with harmattan dust particles. The farmer went to the door at the front of the house, knocked it and called to the occupant. That was the second time. And he continued to chant the traditional praises while they waited for somebody to respond. But nobody answered, and nobody came out to meet them. So, the farmer came back with the little boy and stood with Ekoyata near the big car again for a while, the two of them, in tattered clothes. He also told Ekoyata how glad he was to see a son of the soil who had decided to visit home. Then, he raised his eyes heavenwards, lifted his hands to the sky and offered a blessing for the returnee. Ekoyata began to feel some sincere gratitude now. The man knew that he needed this for the terrible homecoming. So, he didn't care even though the smell of their clothes drifted to him by the ca...

A fictional representation of Leadership Crisis in Nigeria 1. A mud House Ekoyata rested his back lightly on a brown jeep. For the moment, the sport utility vehicle enthusiast wasn't thinking about the Chevrolet or its expensive alloy spoke wheels. He shoved one hand down the deep pocket of his Caftan. He was stone still except for the heavy sigh that he felt sometimes. It was coming out of his nostrils like wind in a storm as the clay walls in front of his eyes puzzled him. The house was a Print Artist type bungalow. They told me that this house is our family house, he wondered blankly at the house. Then, he turned his head to his side to look at the two people with him. 'Thank you, sir,' he said to the man of the two people. The man was the one who had led him to the house. The man was standing very close to him. A big mango tree spread its shed over them. And dry crispy leaves filled the compound. Not that they were hiding in the shed from the sun....