The old man tried to get up. In order to continue his long journey. But his sinewy arthritic legs will not follow the will of the sage. He looks up with his rheumy eyes and different stars seem to be dancing to the songs in his head. A racking cough originating from his innermost being threatening to consume him. He shook with such intensity, his head seems to be at the verge of falling off.
His teary eyes blinked, making the zit on his temple to jump in a zigzag motion. A heavy drop of tears escapes his left eyeball. He sigh with pain that has nothing to do with his physical condition. Oh gods of my father, can I make the mile trek down to the village square to deliver your message?
Condemned and banished from civilisation. I am at the mercy of those that the gods touched to touch me.
He wobbled and stumbled on his third leg and summoned up enough courage to take a cranky step. Jets of pain shoot up from every vein in him.
My people, it is time to tell you the truth from my heart. Even if the truth is bitter and not palatable.
We are heading towards cataclysmic oblivion. If urgent steps are not taken to forestall the impending doom. The way we are running the community, if care is not taken, we will soon be grounded and nothingness beckon.
The gods have spoken, we need a change. The change is not the one peddled by the opposing family of the “Igweship stool”.
A change in the ways of doing things generally. A change in the way we view our brothers and sisters from another mother. It is a change that will alter the way we do things and the way we go about running our affairs.
In one of our old oral tradition passed down.
When we see the looming drum of “akumasogio” booming over the hill-top. It is an ominous sign and it signals the beginning of an invasion.
My good people, the “akumasogio” drums have been beating for the past six moons. And the tempo is becoming more deafening as the day go by. Now is the time to put away our differences. And fight for the betterment of the land. Our posterity is hinged on our actions or inaction in this time of great distress.
The gods have spoken. In seven moons, if their warnings are not heeded. All our treasures will be taken over for the pleasure of our enemy. The enemies who are always ready to loot us dry. All in the name of pacifying our aggrieved parties.
History is full of examples my people. In truth, help coming from abroad is nothing but serious raping of the father-land. Massive looting resulting in deforestation of our land. They always leave in their wake, sterile and destabilised community.
The gods are saying, men from the border towns are planning to invade our dear village. Using the mayhem as an opportunity to further push us out and take over our resources.
The sage looks disturbed, with glazed eyes and began to weep. He stopped and places his left cheek on the floor.
I can hear them
I can hear them
Their boots banging the dust to a furry
Matching into the Igwe’s palace
Dislodging suckling from the mother’s breast
With gyrating waist dancing
To “akumasogio” heavenly beat
Now that they are here
We can as well all die
In peaceful soliloquy
Shout erupted from the gathered crowd,” away with this geriatric lunatic”. We will settle our differences in the way we seem best to us.
I woke from this dream drenched. Hot sweat cascading down my bare chest forming pool of rivulets in my crutch. What kind of dream is this? I wondered. And then I heard it loud and clear, it is time to act and not seat on the fence when it concerns your land. He that has ears let him hear.
Akumasogio drum is a mystical drum.