"THIS STORY"- DENIS ANDABAN WRITES IN HONOUR OF OSCAR OF UEW-K

THIS STORY
By: Denis Andaban
The village boy from DBI
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This story, this story, this story!
This story is not a story to enjoy lines.
It carries no good diction
Yet it carries a dagger .
A dagger that can pierce
A dagger that can strike
Yet without pain.

It is a reminiscing story of a gallant hunter
Who in his escapades came a across expensive herbs
It is not a comedy my people
If it has some melody
But that cannot be its ideology
It is deeper than you can imagine
You must scratch your skull out
You must talk with the demons inside you
You must swallow bitter cola
You must sit alone in a corner
Yes!
You must gather a burning desire to.....
Just like a wise child who has sleepless nights over a proverb from a neighbour

It is told of a gentleman who manufactured happiness
Malnurished greed
Nurtured trust and loyalty

It is told of a gem whose magical powers are buried in his arms.
Never armed with a gun
But armed with a tiny sword. His swords shine more than the illuminating sun of the day, far more than the brightest star and certainly incomparable to  a full moon at midnight
His sword slides enemies
His sword saves million millions
His sword prophesies, it gives diagnosis and prescribes
His medication, the most scarce, efficacious reliable in the world.

Meeting such a gem in a deep forest while in search of a laurel came with joy at last

In a quest to soldier on
There was a dreadful thunder hapapapapapapapapa.....
We trampled and grumpled in fears
Our bows and arrows fell
Our mighty swords remained firmly possessed.

The gods were no where closer
We departed with the gods in the good old days
Yet the gods were chasing us deep in the forest and the lightening and thurnder was a warning enough!

In our bewildering, we saw elephants, buffalos
We saw antelopes, hippos and big animals with varying shapes.

We shot not
We chased not
We triggered not

We protected our swords and held it firmly
The sharpness of our swords became light.
This brought us home

We remember not them all
But it was crazy and terrifying
We remember them not but there was a choice
And the choice was the swords

The story is told
And we are seen as fools and lunatics
How can a desperate hunter not shoot the thing with horns?
The younger generation continue to ridicule us.

Next season
When the harmattan is over
When the bush is burnt
When the people see no work in the farms
When the old and younger folks give stories at home


We shall take our swords and go back to the deep forest to fight the gods
When we are done fighting,
We shall not demand to be made kings
We shall not demand a sacrifice
We shall not call for a monument
We shall call for many others to join us
Because the task ahead is daunting
It is narrow path
Not for the weak souls
Not for material lover
Not for owners of big stomachs

When we are done
We shall build a home
And hail the swords as our ancestors
As our gods
As our messiah.
As our freedom fighter.

We came not to conquer
We came not to destroy
We came to build with our swords
No matter how the gods try, the swords shall remain our blood.

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Oscar Anning, I wish to extend my sincerest best wishes to you as you celebrate your milestone.
I have no crown for you
I have no kobo
I have no green grass or leaves to offer to pay you a homage I so much owe you.
Joyously, I have another sword to add and when we embark on that endless destination
We shall salvage the vulnerable with our mighty swords.
I leave you with a new pen!!!🗒🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊


Voice of conscience
Denis Andaban
The village boy from DBI