I walk through the shadow of the earth, fearing the evils that lurk in the darkness. I tread miles upon miles, seeking the omega of the badland—a journey that wails like an unborn child, twisting and writhing like smoked fish pierced by a toothpick. My heart beats with the danger of a thousand mosquitoes, relentless and merciless.
Life is draped in white, yet backed with black, seated in a black pot wrapped in red linen. I soar across the sky, but not as a bird—rather, as a vulture circling prey. This journey is laden with countless hindrances, obstacles fierce enough to alter destiny. I leave in search of sustenance, only to return empty-handed. This is the unforgettable, diabolic journey.
A journey of famine and affliction, one I never imagined. A path leading to the house of Efunsetan, the formidable and perilous woman who enslaved pregnancy itself and pounded it with the mortar of wickedness.
A house built on a river’s fragile foundation—bound to collapse. What is my sin, O perilous journey? I offered bread, yet the serpents refuse to let me go. Lions threaten my fragile heart, mosquitoes feast upon my blood, and my throat remains parched, for the river runs red. I set forth clothed, yet return naked, stripped by the ruthless path.
“Thou shall not commit suicide,” they say, but invisible hands of power have already placed the noose around my neck. I have seen the devil take the mantle of a mentor, sending his agents to steal the future, setting an agenda to kill and destroy. Where shall I hide? Abeokuta refuses me refuge, and the river will not conceal me. This journey is too mad, too vicious for me to endure.
In this passage of life and death, sheep are cloaked in darkness, parrots are manipulated, snakes bear the teeth of tigers, lions drink with the straws of mosquitoes.
Human flesh is their feast, human blood their water. If you run, you die. If you walk, you die. If you crawl, you die. And every alternative is death. Do not call for help—help has been slaughtered. “Oju aanu ti fo”, and what remains is pure wickedness.
Do not trust Adam, nor Eve, for your best friend can be your deadliest enemy. They eat with you, drink with you, bathe with you, yet poison you for the future they cannot even see. A future built on assumptions—offering sweet promises yet laced with bitter shame. Eve, the bone of Adam, the flesh of Adam, still handed him the apple of hell and called it the fruit of the future.
Those who trust blindly are already burning in the hell of friendship. Open your eyes when they tell you to close them. Engage your mind when they say you need not think. Let your inner self guide you, for only then can you truly live out the destiny meant for you.
Sage