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IF WISDOM HAD A SMELL (A POEM)

If wisdom had a smell It would smell of old books Passed down from generation to generation Revealing the truths about the enigma called time. The truths which cannot be purchased Even by the highest bidder. That smell that unveils the arduous work of writers Known and unknown. That smell that reveals family trees of readers Seen and unseen. That smell that conquers ignorance Once knowledge is sought. If wisdom had a smell It would smell like an old, well-read copy of Uncle Tom's Cabin Revealing the evil behind the thoughts and actions of slavery. That smell that encompasses sacrifice. That smell that brings words and characters to life. That smell that raises positive movements that will In time, save humankind. If wisdom had a smell It would smell of old wrappers Worn by mothers and even fathers, Instinctively used to wipe the tears Of their children away, Used with love to cover them from the rain or sun. Oh, the smell of that long piece of fabric With drawings of horses, stars,...
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ONE WAY POLICE


“Driver you no sabi anything. Abeg give me space make I show you how to beat this yeye traffic wey be like wetin winch dey invoke to life.”

 

That black uniform, that desperate voice making us question what the law stood for these days, was part of us Lagosians returning   home from our various hard-knock lives, on a Friday evening, 7:00 pm. From Obalende to Yaba we prayed for a free passage since Lagos signed a contract with “go slow.” It is not the only thing slow about us. 

 

The Police become your friend when all odds are against the populace. They can even break the law to make you safe. Isn’t it ironic? The Police become your friend when it rains and they need shelter in your store or your vehicle or your shack. The police were more than a friend to us when we found ourselves positioned in a single spot for an hour. Traffic became our common enemy. Passengers cursed, drivers lamented: “petrol wen pesin buy today now go finish today.” Radios were angrily turned off since they seemed to have aggravated the heat in the atmosphere: note, the weather was cool up, but hot down because of scrappy vehicles omitting deadly fumes and deafening sounds. They were all living their last days. 

 

“You no dey hear word? Abi because I no pay you money you think say I no sabi anything?”

 

The driver shrugged. His vehicle was not in the best shape to be tested by an okrofo who lacked knowledge on how to make the vehicle cooperative. We were in the heart of the traffic approaching Adekunle and if we could not beat it by taking one way on top of the bridge, we would have to join, spending our Friday evening with hawkers happy about the movement.

 

Our attention was caught when the driver suddenly came down, exchanging seating positions with the officer. We were on the journey to beating traffic by following one way with a police officer as our driver. Now isn’t it ironic?

It took him 5 minutes to get the hand of the vehicle and we drove away escaping coming vehicles flashing their front lights at us with surprise and hatred. 

“Which kind country be this sef?” 

Said a passenger. “See as this one dey break law and all of una dey look no talk anything. Na police be this abi e just borrow the uniform?” Silence. There was only a mocking smile on the face of the officer. After all, he was our hero that moment even if we were not being appreciative until we got stopped by a police checkpoint on the bridge before descending.

 

“But what sort of nonsense is this? Corporal, why you go do this kind yeye thing? Look, this bus is not going anywhere. I go arrest the driver and you will be punished for this! With your uniform, you can carry out such stunt when you know the law………………!!!! And the bargaining continued for 15 minutes. They went up and down, side, middle, back and forth until the increased demand of the officer in charge at the checkpoint, was finally supplied. The driver paid it all.

 

“Officer I tell you say make we no pass here now all the money wen I for make this night don go like that. Na crime to carry police?” 

We laughed, analyzed, criticized the rottenness of the country. It was a traffic nation with the rich enjoying the slow movement in their air-conditioned cars; drivers on the wheels, and the poor squeezed in abandoned-like buses struggling for 20 naira change from conductors and inhaling all sorts of odours, seen and unseen. 

 

“The land is tired of all the stress caused by us. We are moving so slow that it seems like a reversal. Today we have escaped the physical traffic the wrong way but tomorrow we will continue to swim in our mental “go slow” with the slogan “e go better one day.” Said the oldest man in the vehicle and he got a reply from the conductor: “Baba na English you dey speak o. The koko be say we don escape today own matta.”

When we got to Sabo, the traffic had spread its tentacles. I arrived home at 10 pm. Now isn’t it IRONIC!!!!!!!!

 

Don’t forget to be honest!

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