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#NoiseofRevolt: Madiba Will Not Die – By @Obajeun

mandelaMadiba Will Not Die…

This is the story of a heart in search of gripping solace, perhaps in the pains of his strife. Today, I will not rant like a typical frustrated social commentator on good governance. I will, for the period my heart permits, fiddle with the essence of my existence. I am not rich, I have not arrived, I have no food to eat, I have a skinny bank account, yet I dream dreams and hope not to be rich but to be comfortable, still keep moving and have food to share with others. I will continue to live my life for others and still keep motivational books at arm’s length. But in all, I will not die; neither will Mandela die until the handshake comes, the handshake of the gods.

Madiba will not die…

The broadcast came into my blackberry phone, queuing behind other unread senseless broadcasts waiting for my angry finger to tap the ‘delete’ button. That morning, the end of the world came so close. For the first time, I lost my sense of tomorrow momentarily. I remembered the trials of the SOWETO clan, troublous and disheartening peregrinations of a people from joy to sorrow; from sorrow back to joy; from hope to despondency and from despondency back to hope.

Madiba will not die…

My perspiration resisted the cold ambience of the Osun-Osogbo grove when I paid a visit to the gods with my ipad. Goose bumps took over my skin and tears cascaded down my cheeks. The early morning harmattan failed to douse my temperature for beads of sweat began to form under my armpits, on my chest, under my temple and under my feet. The creases on my forehead moved in tempo with my palpitating heart. Few minutes after, I realized it was a rumour and instead of mourning Nelson, I cursed the sender of the broadcast and pre-mourned him. The gods are on his case. Just like Udo in Ubujuonu’s Pregnancy of the gods, Mandela has become an avatar of Complex Paradox; even if he dies, he will still live in the story of the world.

Madiba will not die…

Blame me not, for the gods have also failed. Blame me not, for I ended as an Engineer when I could vocalize with my thoughts. Blame me not, for I will marry, not to my today’s friend, but to my yesterday’s friend. Blame me not, for my failures have set me up when the dreams are not close. Blame me not, for I am not bothered about today when the merry is going round. Blame not my mum, blame not my destiny, and blame not my dreams, for I missed the chance to make my millions at 22. But blame me if I miss to fulfill my childhood dream of having a handshake with Mandela before he dies.

Madiba will not die…

It will be a handshake of the gods, a feast of palms where the gods will gyrate to the rhythm of accomplishment. Once this is done, then I am ready, I am on the warfront. Clear the path for me, the prime mower dreams, let me see the tall building I am aiming at its roof tops. Let the SOWETO trees clap and bow for the son of the soil, the black soil of distrust and love. Good morning SOWETO, here I am for the handshake. Let the neighbours be aware, for we will play the music of AMALA AWETU. This is my story.

It is me, @Obajeun

Jonah Ayodele Obajeun blogs @www.obajeun.com. Catch him on twitter via @Obajeun

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  1. And it is me too, @lordrooz!
    Touching one, madiba will not die!:)

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