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Nigeria's leading fictional story blog - that Africans take their destinies, acts of these vampires, swim the Mediterranean, Vampires, beauty of the land, drink ourselves to death.

Enchanting beauty adorns the land. Shining stones line by the street sides; once, a cynosure of all eyes. Dark fluid of wealth flows across the delta, surpassing the force of the ocean current. The chocolate fruit, glitzy stones, ocean lines, minerals that foster affluence, the smiling faces of my people, the warmth of the weather, the rich vegetation and the wild life are the pride of our land. Now, the sun has gone down; the beauty wanes. Battered and left in ruins, the land bleeds. Vampires continue to suck the land dry. Mansions they erect, underlining their prowess and power. Brazen they have become; looting, killing and beating with impunity. Our land bleeds profusely, tethering on the edge. Who will stop the bleeding? Who will plug these gaping wounds?

Sullen and despondent we look on the other side, drowning in a pool of wretched blood. Hopes evaporate as our collective belongings massively end up in secret domains that lie westwards. Chasms arise in our roads. Running water runs dry, while food hangs way high. Their hearts have gone numb. Myopic demons; they can only see themselves. Udan drinks as the cow pees. Vultures watch, waiting patiently for the next carcass of our children. Babwe is groaning under a grueling weight as the king of the land latches onto the throne for life. Like vagrants, we wait at the seafront, expecting our supplies from the Far East…and the west too, making little or nothing at home. Weak, great and inferior, we bring them all in from the land that makes all things.

Amid opulence, squalor reigns supreme. Slashings and cuttings in Leone’s neighbourhood just yesterday. Ongo too heard and still hears the sound of the barrel; the deadly barrel. For what? For glitzy stones. Iberia, the young at heart joined the orchestra. Wicked tunes they churned out. Trees and houses swayed to their melodies, as bodies waltzed to their chaotic rhythms. The Sahara becomes our playground, and in the Mediterranean wine, we embrace stupor, desperate to make the cross to a better land. We drink ourselves to death as we seek to end these pains than haunt and taunt at home. Boatloads of youth arrive on the shores of the lands of wines and olives…the lands of tomatoes, beaches and siesta; after very many have fallen overboard, swept off by powerful tunes in a deadly romance. 

In another man’s land some dwell in pig’s pen with gusto, declining castles at home, where vampires forage and rummage. On the west coast they look askance at us. Some live in sordid shacks, devoid of authenticity. Yet they avoid home, where folks wait and shout for succour. I see the glorious abodes of our kings in this foreign land. Their descendants ride in carriages of gold; our gold. Round and round our pictures are beamed as hopeless mendicants. The beauty of the land is hardly mentioned. The beauty of its people is surpassed by the acts of these vampires.  Heart breaking!!! My heart bleeds for our home.  When will this end? Some say, “Time will fix our plights and troubles.” I heard that even from my mother’s womb…I still hear it today - “Time will heal our land.” My ears tingle and my heart quivers with pain each time we are told to wait on time…on eternity that belongs not to this world. 

I can only look above, where divine hope lies. I can only hope that Africans wake up and chart their own course. I can only pray that Africans take their destinies in their own hands, uniting for their own good and for a better world! I can only wish that the time they talk about it now, so that our children will not swim the Mediterranean in years to come. I can only hope that our kings obtain new pairs of eyes – those that allow them to truly see and act. Hands that are willing to work, not those that are far too eager to stuff and line their pockets with gold that belongs to all. Hearts that are sensitive to the cries of the masses, whose feet are burning in the sun; scarred by untold agonies.  If only wishes were horses…if only hopes alone could save the land, then I alone would take on our gigantic maladies, for I have bristled with unbridled hope for our land from birth.


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Written by:
Victor Chinoo

www.moofyme.com: for breathtaking stories and exciting articles, every day!!!

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Nigeria's leading fictional story blog - that Africans take their destinies, acts of these vampires, swim the Mediterranean, Vampires, beauty of the land, drink ourselves to death.
Moofyme.com: An African Literary Blog
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