Afrosays to me

…random excerpts from my communions with the AfroMuse

The righteous man July 29, 2012

Filed under: Scenic — afrosays @ 4:48 pm
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She’s been scheming, she has. Now she’s ready.





When I woke up this morning, the world felt like a dark oil stain around me – normal. All the righteous men that have lived in this world have felt this huge blemish on her clothes, the corrupt imprint of human consciousness on all existence.

I am in a small room that is really a naked concrete floor except for a leaf-thin mattress that takes up half the space. There is a tiny barred window very close to the tall ceiling, beyond one’s reach. The door is a garden of parallel iron bars. The walls were recently painted a lazy white when a team from the state department came to visit. I wasn’t in the room then though, but even when I discovered the white to be more preferable to the rotten, old grey, I immediately began to miss the old stories left behind by those who had had the privilege to use this room before me. Though the wall was still wet, I traced out whatever I could still see under the weak paint with my fingernails. The memory of a man, no matter how insignificant, should never be erased.

It seems that I would be leaving here tomorrow. I might miss this place, I do not know. Here, the heaviness of the blemish of the world is not as dense as it is among the people who seem to think that they are the best of it. Here, among the worst, there is a lighter weight on my shoulders and I wonder why. I had thought that the consequence of sin would be fall upon me heavily in this place, for after all, it is a collection of the vilest sinners. But it is not so, the peace here, I would liken to the peace I would feel whenever I wandered into the wild to detoxify my spirit whenever the weight of sins of the world became too much to bear. Maybe this was why the righteous man of Israel made his bed in the company of sinners.

Thirteen months have passed since I was here, and three months before I came here, I was somewhere else like this. They put me here because two little girls died but I’d be leaving here tomorrow because they cannot hold me any longer with good reason. The world knows what happened but it cannot be explained to a courtroom in the way it did. Even the eyewitness accounts had to be amended to individual taste; the people who saw what they did still doubt what they saw. Consequently, all their testimonies were incongruent. The video clips online are still being debated as hoaxes, but that doesn’t change the autopsy results.

Sometimes, I wonder if I’d done the right thing. The modern man in me asks that question everyday but I cannot answer a moral question with my own moral judgement; the scriptures on my mattress have been thumbed wretched and I still am not satisfied. I know that the power of God is his and if he chooses to lend it to me, it must be righteous, what I do. That is my logic. If he lends me his power to heal broken bones, it must be right to do so; If he lends me his power to straighten bent backs, it must be right to do so; if he lends me his power to open blind eyes, it must be right to do so.

I replay it all in my head, their screams as birds fell out of the sky, crashing through the windows to tear them to pieces, as rats ran out of their hiding places on my command to join in bringing the wrath of God to pass. The church was horrified to witness divine vengeance from the days of Elisha. They had watched as laughter had turned to screams and then silence with shock on their faces, as they sat immobile. All that was left was dry bones, there had been no blood. They would have gone home to warn their children never again to make cat calls at a righteous man because he is uneducated, because he can’t complete fancy grammar sentences to their taste.

However, I still wonder, if he lent me his power on that day, was it righteous, what was done?






Love and truth August 31, 2010

Filed under: Scenic — afrosays @ 1:32 pm
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However topsy-turvy life has been lately, I’ve got the goddess to hang on to.

I’m learning form her that truth is what most people say it is, what we were told and what we would tell our children.

I’ve been saving to buy a bicycle so that I can get around faster when I’m beating the gong, in case AfroSays:




I listened half-attentively to the grayed pastor as he described his convictions about pure love between a man and a woman.
“Any love that is tainted with carnality is of the devil”, he bellowed as he wiped torrents of sweat from his forehead. I always marveled at how he managed to keep up perspiration when the frigid temperature in the church almost formed icicles on the ceiling. Most of the congregation was clothed in suits and sweaters.
“Ladies, any man that wants to have sex with you is from the pits of hell”, he continued, “Men, there must be no hugging or kissing or staying together in private places. Flee from every appearance of evil!”.
“Amen!”, chorused the older members of the church in unison with our pastor’s spiritual ideologies. I was humored at how most of them had consummated their marriages with a foetus under the wedding dress, later subscribing to spirituality to protect their daughters from celebrating their youth under the lewd influence of Aphrodite.
The pastor had enjoyed his youth, the beautiful lady sitting next to me was evidence. I had helped her to enjoy hers as well. She was sitting next to me, keeping the other half of my attention at carnal consciousness with her legs brushing against mine. Earlier on in our relationship, we both had chosen not to devour the forbidden fruit but we had put a hole in it and sucked its nectar to our satisfaction. It is however unfortunate that nectar never seemed to really satisfy one, it only caused an increasing addiction.
Of course, we overgrew nectar with time and started nibbling at the fruit itself. It had been itsy, little incissor teeth cuts at first but before we knew it, we were planning deliberate camping trips under the forbidden tree, preparing fruit dishes with every kind of recipe book we could find.
Her companionship transcended fruit and nectar. We blended so perfectly in every thing else that our carnal sessions could only prove testament. I don’t believe in the First Corinthians thirteen kind of love because I’ve never seen it, but pastor’s kid and I? Friendship? Naa! our relationship or whatever it was, I just figured it was something cool enough to have around as I grew older.
I didn’t surprise me when I married the pastor’s kid twenty years ago. I only winked at her as I watched her eventually turn to our daughter and mumble something about remaining a virgin in Christ, whatever that was.



The Miraculous Men of God August 20, 2010

She’s hungrier for more worshipers so I have to put my back into it.

I’m leading the worship session, beating a holy tune on my gong only because AfroSays:


The Miraculous Men of God

The Miraculous Men of God

Working at the shop was the most boring part of my life. The usually day dragged on like a wounded creature till evening and I only started feeling much better when I began to move in our wares for closing time.
A nondescript yellow bus slowed down and a man jumped out looking like he couldn’t make up his mind between Michael Jackson and James Brown. He was definitely a preacher.
His bible cover and his suit must have been made from the same material because they were exactly the same shade of faded black. He gave a new definition to “Man of Cloth”.
He traveled with the usual pentecostal bag of tricks: a white kerchief, a bottle of anointing oil that obviously contained an inferior substitution, and a lousy bell for inviting the world to salvation. What a delight it would have been to know how he’d have pulled off the Eucharist if it were an evangelical necessity.
He looked like he wanted to start preaching but unfortunately for him, there was competition already at work. One self-proclaimed Prophet Jemini was inviting witches and their victims to repentance and he was quite the spectacle also. He wore a gown that had once been white and a funny red hat that creatively combined a cross, a crescent moon and a star into an emblem. He also wore a yellow scarf and rusted jewelery, all bearing the same divine symbol. He had beaten his adversary to the podium by seconds, ringing his bigger bell and gathering a sparse crowd.
“The devil is a liar”, shouted the pastor in an attempt to steal the dim limelight. “Dear Redeemed of the lord, do not be deceived, signs and wonders shall follow them that believe!” “We are a chosen generation!”
The soft drink seller as if on cue, quickly began to share soft drinks amongst the shop owners. My madame was out of the country so I ordered for something different today. The enterprising kid tossed a can of beer my way and I settled into one of the executive chairs on display.
“Rajah! Raaajah! Thou art great!”, the prophet shouted, as he brought out an interesting series of colorful scarves out of the thin air. I was happy because I guessed he was going to work some magic.
My girlfriend arrived just then and I quickly arranged a beer for her too. She was still sulking that I had decided that we were not going to the cinemas. She was immediately took her seat by my side and started nursing her drinking problem appropriately. Seven more cans would follow, and whenever that happened, I became a hero. Besides, with madame away, the day had gone well so I could afford it. I could be a millionaire by the end of the month, over-pricing the wares if this parasite would leave me alone.
“Rajah! Raaajah! Thou art mighty!”, Prophet Jemini shouted as he opened each scarf to reveal a strangely dyed bird. The all flew into random. The last black bird landed on his funny hat as commanded, “Spirit of Rajah! Lead thy servant!” I wondered how the fellow had managed to capture those strange-looking rainbow birds; they had extra long beaks and tails and were as big as small turkeys.
The pastor would not be outdone so easily, he produced something even more ridiculous. We turned to him and watched as he produced a shining piece of technical wonderment and poured the foul looking oil into it. He pulled a trigger and shouted “Receive the anointing!!!!” A perfumed fountain immediately sprang out of the device, leaping seven feet into the air. He didn’t waste a second, “Receive the faayaaaah!!!!” echoed through the area as the same gizmo produced a spark at his discretion and we were witnessing the latter rain of fire and Pentecost. Over a hundred and fifty lost souls gathered in two seconds.
The men of God had their offering boxes open and the fees of salvation began to pour in. I immediately donated, wouldn’t you? The book of Leviticus teaches us benevolence towards men of calling and I didn’t get this kind of phenomenal service at my austere Catholic cathedral.
The competition continued in earnest. The message for the day hovered around how Nostradamus had baptized Jesus in the lake of Babylon. The two clerics were at it for several minutes, attacking the issue from several abstract angles, mesmerizing their audience with miraculous side-attractions in the process. I enjoyed several other epiphanies from my new church of wonderful revelation; I didn’t know that had Judas founded Judaism or that Bob Marley was still alive in Tibet. The crowd had already grown to ridiculous proportions.
With that kind of crowd around, I immediately began to close shop. When I was done, I and a very drunk companion watched from afar. Interestingly, I had been discreet to observe from a distance because as darkness crept upon us all, the extra large crowd would experience the greatest miracle they would ever see in their life time.
A golden cloud, rapture and missing wallets.



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