Tales By Moonlight – 3 Short Stories

Story 3: YEAA - Release Barrabas but kill Jesus

In the first tale, I told you about the gap-toothed throne usurper and in the second one, I reminded you about the new monarchy in Arokostan. What we haven’t talked about was how the monarchy was restored.

Well, our Maradona was a good dribbler, a master of a “little to the left and a little to the right” tactic. He got many fooled on restoring the monarchy but an election was finally held. One Arokostan,from the southern wards, was on the clear path of becoming the King.

In the East was a notable arms dealer of great repute. Behaving like a thief in the night, while Arokostans were deep asleep, our man, under the aegis of ABN, approached the courts and got an injunction to stop the elections.

Well, let’s just say that this singular act put in disarray the whole village and set in motion a chain of events that changed Arokostan for good. Immediately this brought into the monarchy another khaki wearing dark goggled usurper who ruled with fierce iron hands and placed the rightful heir to the throne in jail along with many others.

But, our man Friday from the East turned out to only be a forerunner, another was to come, mightier and more deadly. His name is DK.

Have we forgotten him so soon? Haba, we can’t afford that. He was the young Arokostan that started the YEAA movement, yes YEAA.

Just in case you still don’t remember him, I will refresh your memory. While the rightful heir to the throne remained imprisoned, the YEAA campaign, led by DK, placed billboards around Arokostan and was on all media channels proclaiming there was no one good enough to rule Arokostan. They were good, very good. Even Caiaphas, in whipping the crowd to frenzy, chanting “release Barrabas and kill Jesus” would have learnt one or two things from DK and be envious.

Proselyticing anyone and everyone, they called the usurper God on earth. It seemed that was where they made their biggest mistake as they got the one that beyond the clouds angry and jealous. He sent the Angels of death in the shape of two Indian beauties who gave the dark goggled general the Apple and he died.

DK eloped from the land as Arokostans became jubilant. The streets were up in celebration shouting “Free at last, free at last, thank God, we are free at last”.

Our story teller looked into the crystal ball but what he saw caused him to weep. Weeping not because of what has happened but what was to come. He was yet to wipe up his tears when poisoned tea was served to the rightful heir in his prison cells and he died.

Some said it was to balance the polity. It was this act of wickedness that caused a voice to be heard from the heavens, saying “O Arokostan, Arokostan, thou that killest your wise men, and stonest them which are sent unto thee, how often would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not! Behold, your house is left unto you desolate.”

It was like the day of the Lord had come. The Ifa worshippers, Sango, Oya, Obatala were all out making sacrifices to him that sit beyond the clouds. The Moslems were shouting “Allahu akbar” and the Christians were not left behind. Gathered on different mountain tops, they proclaimed a season of prayers and fasting. Somehow, they all missed understanding that to do righteousness and justice is more acceptable to the Lord than sacrifice.

Regretfully, till today, Arokostans keep increasing the number of worship centres but have failed to be righteous and just in their dealings.

While the blood of the martyrs cry from the land, DK is back, making speeches and being celebrated. Even Maradona, now on his wheel chair, lectures Arokostan on democracy and they listen. It’s as if the whole village has been bewitched.

by ‘Bimbo Bakare, the story teller.

[This concludes the 3 short stories]

Tales by moonlight: 3 short stories

Story 2: Let there be light

No where were the words found in the Book of Prophet Bob Marley 2: 1 that “You can fool some people sometimes but you can’t fool all the people all the time” true as it was in Arokostan.

They got fed up with Maradona and all his tomfoolery and made the village too hot for him and his gang of throne usurpers.

Through some reversed logic thinking, they felt that an incarcerated felon was the one most suited to lead them out of the doldrums, and, without much ado they brought the man out, changed his prison garments and robed him in royal apparel.

All the while this man was shouting “Opę oo”, some greyhaired elders convinced the youths that it was the new dawn for Arokostan. Afterall, who else was better suited to turn the fortune of the village around than someone who had just been graciously given a second life?

Looking frail, the years of imprisonment have caused the tribal marks on the face of the new king to become very pronounced. He never believed that he, of all men, could suffer the fate of imprisonment.

Being one person that didn’t agree with God that vengeance should be left to him alone, he quickly incarcerated everyone that he considered complicit in his imprisonment.

Though Arokostanians were asking for dividends of democracy, Baba Iyabo, as some preferred to call him, would have nothing of the idea that vengeance doesn’t create democracy dividends.

With electricity having become epileptic following years of kleptocratic governance, the cacophony of voices grew louder and Baba Iyabo decided to do something about it. He remembered his old nemesis from Esa Oke ward.

In Esa Oke was a man, who, in his younger days, had shown great brilliance in managing his ward in the village. He was a great orator of some sort that they call him the Cicero. Oh yes, in Arokostan of those days, Uncle B wore that garment, tightly fitting and deserving.

Critical of Baba Iyabo, the Cicero had often times smoothly talked of how he could solve the power problems of Arokostan. Baba Iyabo knew better but saw an opportunity to put his old foe to silence. The only problem was that the Cicero belongs to the camp of the Ajibuoba but not the Ajirobas.

In the winner takes all politics at play in Arokostan, it had never happened for a member of the opposition to be appointed to a chieftaincy position. Baba Iyabo lobbied his chiefs with “Ghana Must Go” bags and they eventually agree to have the Cicero appointed as the Chief for Power affairs.

The Cicero was jubilant and eagerly announced to the people “Power failure will be a thing of the past within six months.” Perhaps, he should have contained his excitement, afterall this was Arokostan where anything that could go wrong would go wrong.

Resuming at his new office, Cicero shared his enthusiasm with his Permanent Secretary (PS). To his dismay, his team didn’t share the same enthusiasm. The first salvo came from the PS “what would happen to the millions of generating sets in Arokostan?” The Cicero was flabbergasted, how could a civil servant paid from public tax revenue think this way?

Then it was the turn of one of his Engineers wanting to know why he was bent on upgrading Kainji, when he should be concerned more with stopping the unjust exportation of Electricity from the North to the South. The workers unions were not left behind. They were least concerned about the product, choosing to ignore the direct linkage between their efficiency and well-being. From Shiroro to Egbin, it was all strikes and cries about increasing our pay while the megawatts being generated was abysmal.

In six months, our Cicero was unable to get anything done. He cried to Baba Iyabo, for old times sake, save my face. Baba Iyabo had been expecting this, he was only surprised that it took Uncle B that long to realise that talk was cheap. Bola, don’t worry, I already have a soft landing for you. Şebi, you are a lawyer, I will announce you as our Attorney General and get a “barrel that doesn’t make noise” to step in your shoes.

Just close to a year anniversary of the Cicero becoming the AG, he was killed in his house. Some said that the enemies he made while managing Arokostan Electricity were behind his gruesome killing. Others have said the fingers point at Baba Iyabo because he still had unforgiveness in his heart.

What is certain is that, despite being the highest ranked keeper of justice, his murderers are yet to be found.

Moses’ Dilemma

Three Short Stories – Story 1

Leadership is difficult. It is made more difficult in a society if success is measured by riches and not many are concerned as to how such riches are acquired

Some moons ago, a gap-toothed man seized power in Arokostan, crowning himself king.

The people, of course, cried out against his tyranny. Among them, the voice of the khaki-clad school headmaster boomed the loudest. A fearless man, he led protests and lectured on what Arokostan should be, could be, but was not – unfazed by the king’s gun-wielding minions.

The headmaster was highly respected. After all, he had established a top-notch school, proving what good leadership could achieve in their community.

Despite being touted as the happiest nation; daily survival was a struggle for Arokostanians. Life was not a walk in the park. The gap-toothed king, a cunning leader, navigated Arokostan through economic, social, and political turmoil. He earned various nicknames. Some called him Arokostan’s Maradona, his political astuteness likened to the Argentine footballer’s dribbling skills, albeit with a touch of the “Hand of God.” While nobody saw him as a saviour, his undeniable intelligence earned him the moniker “evil genius” from some.

Maradona, tired of the headmaster’s constant wailing, spent sleepless nights plotting how to silence his nemesis while simultaneously winning over the people. The idea struck him like a sudden burst of light – a brilliant one. At dawn, he summoned his chiefs to a council meeting, sharing his plan. Of course, they were not as gifted as him in such matters so all they could say was that it would not end in praise. He was baffled – couldn’t they see his genius?

Maradona then sent out the town crier to announce the establishment of a “People’s Bank” offering soft loans to pursue various endeavours, with the esteemed village headmaster as chairman to ensure responsible management. The people rejoiced, expecting a new dawn. The headmaster, convinced it was a good thing for Arokostan, diligently took charge, determined to enact positive change.

Everyone seemed happy – Maradona with his gap-toothed grin, the headmaster and his ilk, and the people themselves. According to surrounding villages, Arokostanians were brash, self-centred, lawless, corrupt, and immoral. The king was not nicknamed Maradona for nothing; he was aware of this, something hidden from the headmaster who was consumed by his nationalistic fervour to improve Arokostan at all costs. Maradona anticipated the inevitable collapse and bided his time.

Arokostan had everything to be great – wonderful people and abundant natural resources, the envy of other villages. Despite this, Arokostanians were treated with disdain. Surrounding villages stopped trading with them and imposed excruciating permit processes for any visiting Arokostanian.

Well, a few moons later, the headmaster learned the harsh truth Maradona had known all along: Arokostanians were not ready for good leaders, perhaps didn’t even want them. Their actions spoke volumes different from their words. They only complained when things were not in their favour.

So, what happened? While the headmaster tirelessly strived to ensure a “better life” for the people, granting loans for what he saw as worthwhile opportunities, corruption festered under his leadership. When the scandal broke, he was in disbelief. How could this have happened? The very people he made policy decisions with were presenting fictitious projects to secure loan funding. Dejected, he approached Maradona, requesting prosecution for those involved.

Maradona, with a satisfied grin, placed a hand on the headmaster’s shoulder. “Sir, you’ve got the Moses problem. Remember him? While he was busy on Mount Sinai working with God, his people were busy making idols! While you focused on the bank’s vision, your people siphoned off the money.”

“So, sir,” the evil genius continued, “if you can’t manage a small thing like the People’s Bank, how can you handle Arokostan?” And uncle, he added, hammering home his point, “you’ve smeared my name because of my team’s corruption. It would only be fair if I blamed you too. But I will not, because I know who Arokostanians are. Why don’t you just go home and let me clean up this mess?”

Feeling humiliated, the headmaster went home, a broken man. How could this have happened to him? He was an honourable man and saw no justification to take part in any other protest against Maradona. The weight of it all likely contributed to his death a few years later.

His epitaph, self-written, reads: “Here lies Tai Solarin, who lived and died for humanity.”

by ‘Bimbo Bakare, the storyteller.