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Abayomi Ogunwale | Klo2

 As I walked into the gaily adorned arena, an uneasy calm settled over the assembly as conversations ceased and faces turned in my direction. I could almost hear the collective whisper: who is he? Is he one of us? I smiled and settled into their cold embrace. For, beyond my expensive dressing and carriage, somewhere deep within me, I knew beyond doubt: I belonged, there.

The others observed me from a distance at first, like Jolomi had warned, but I kept my cool, smiling and beckoning at them like an open door. They had no reason to be scared of me. I wasn’t afraid of them, like I had been, of the other passengers of the white Hiace bus I rode in to the venue. At least they showed no obvious hostility. They were not dressed like urchins, and above all, Jolomi seemed to like them.

As the minutes ticked away and music filled the hall, some of the guests drifted over to where I stood, calmy observing the proceedings. Suddenly, a tall, thin, grey haired man stood to his feet, buttoned his blue suit and traversed the few steps separating us while the others stood apart, acting disinterested. We soon stood half a metre apart. And then he did a most surprising thing: reaching out slowly to hold my chin, he examined my face like a blind man meeting a new friend. Next, he turned to admire my shirt and ran his long manicured fingers along the woven pattern on the pocket like he was copying it out. I was tickled and couldn’t help giggling. That response must have pleased him greatly. He suddenly threw his head back, held himself straight and laughed at my failed attempt to suppress a giggle.Then he grabbed my hand and introduced himself in a rich baritone.

“Jack. My name is Jack, and tonight, I am the man in charge! You can call me P.M.B…short for Prime Minister of Britain. As you can see…’

That moment marked the beginning of the most exhilarating evening of my entire life as the atmosphere thawed, and we all began to chat like old friends. I found it easy to converse with everybody at the same time, and in any language too, without losing words or mixing my arguments.

“What a gathering!” I whispered to Jolomi as we went around, meeting the men and women who, in many ways, ruled our World. The Queen of England was there, as well as three Asian presidents, two prime ministers (apart from Jack) and a handful of Nobel laureates. In that exclusive gathering, my position as president of the Vatican (Pope, in some circles) appeared small. I was impressed at the turn out and the entire set-up. Jack, being the host, soon got up to give a speech. He ambled to the podium and raised a hand for silence.

“Ladies and gentlemen, he began. We stand here today as representatives of our respective countries, in order to issue a joint statement concerning the worrisome state of world affairs, and to discuss the implications of the imminent war between Hitler and Napoleon…”

“Napoleon? But…Napoleon is dead!” Someone shouted from the back. “I killed him myself!

Following this interruption, the room broke into several pockets of arguments.

Jack coughed, called for decorum, and continued, ignoring the dissenting voice.

‘‘You see…”

As he spoke, Jolomi’s account of the previous day’s visit to the doctor came back to me in fragments.

“Sorry, Mr. Jolomi …must…be…schizophrenia … psychiatric condition multiple…personalities … MRI … tumour in your frontal lobe. Might….account…headaches… might …sometimes … of … loss…sensorium … transient loss…consciousness…”

Suddenly, I began to feel light and dizzy. I reached for the wall to balance myself and for an instant, Jolomi’s words came alive. The congregation suddenly lost its glitter, the swiveling lights became ripe mangoes and the waiters monkeys. I saw trees! Even my companions were not spared. In a second, they seemed to age, becoming dirty old men in rags, chattering wildly about nothing. As I made to shout out in protest, my eyes snapped open, back to reality. I was just in time to catch the last words of Jack’s address: ‘…order to save the world”.

In the accompanying applause, I realized -to my relief- that I had only been daydreaming.

We were well received at the UN secretariat by thousands of cheering spectators. Clusters of protesters also milled around with raised placards and flyers. As we alighted and moved towards the entrance to the secretariat, I wished Jolomi had come along with me. Later, Jack delivered a speech on our behalf, and with his strong and passionate voice, he brought many to tears, including me.

As we made to leave after the presentation, one particularly affected young woman whose eyes had been on me since we arrived -like she had seen a ghost- broke away from the crowd. Visibly distraught, she wailed as she ran towards me. I turned in fright, hoping to flee but her next words sent me to hell, and back.

“JOLOMI! Jo…Lo…Mi….ooo .Aaaah…Why?”

“What are you doing here? Say something! Here? In the middle of Ughelli market? Dressed…Like this? Ehn? Answer me! And … and with … with, all the mad men in Ughelli! Why?

As she railed on behind me, I made to run again, and she broke into fresh tears. I turned back with blazing eyes, frantically searching for support; anything, to refute those hurtful allegations. And …

All around us, in the same places the delegates had been standing, stood the insane, of all sorts and ages; garbed in rags and covered with the dust of the average African market. In their hands were buckets, broken pots and suitcases filled with junk. I dropped the broom in my hand and fell to my knees in one motion, then bowed my bald head to the ground and waited for the tears to come.

That long moment in the middle of Ughelli market, kneeling on the red earth under the scorching sun, with a faceless crowd gathered around me is forever etched in my memory, buried deeply in a place where neither time nor words can defile. And as I floated in the pool of their puerile curiousity, I wondered how the same eyes that once looked on me with awe and mouths that hailed me as ‘Prof’ in the not so distant past could drown me so eagerly in bitter wonder and wordless pity. That was the moment of self-discovery; it was then, I first knew.

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