I WAS A            BIGFOOL                                                      

 KENECHUKWU OBI

I know what they can do. I know they will come after me. They would not be truly who they are, brutal and merciless, if they don’t. They surely will. But I surely do not care, at this point in my life that I have found a goldmine. Oh… Can I ever leave this mine for anything else? Not until the sun jumps down from the sky. I thought I had found joy in my life. I had thought my mission was a source of the very height of joy I could have before I slipped into the warm and cozy cradle I was told martyrdom would reserve for me. Now I know I had all along been blind, naïve and insensitive to the fact that life is a fat Christmas Santa Claus with a huge stockpile of goodies, which it can just throw into the hands of anyone, without the person having to sweat one bit for it. Life! How can I show you my appreciation that has filled me to the brim? How can I thank you enough? How can I prove to you that I am eternally grateful for your gift, a gem that has illuminated the darkness that used to be me, a rose flower that has beautified the portrait of ugliness, hatred, strife and malevolence that was me? I will even worship you all the days of my life if you demand that of me, for warming up my life that used to be the thick of winter, with your rare gift that arrested me. You have chosen to shower your abundant blessings on me in France . I thank you so much, even though you met me ugly, devilish, and with an insatiable appetite to spill innocent blood in broad day light. Thank you for bringing me the greatest gift of all. Now, I know it is really the greatest of gifts.

Every day, I thank her so much for coming through and becoming that very special person sent to arrest me. I do not know if she truly understands any bit of all what I say to her. She speaks no word of English or Arabic, and I cannot speak her own language. But the ravishing smiles, I see on her face each day, seem to tell me she is very happy, that I cannot help but show her love. She fills my life with her warm and attractive laughter that seems to suggest that until now, she has not had any cause to open up and laugh freely. And the more she laughs, the more I long to watch her do so; so I try hard to tickle her ribs to induce her to laugh as long as possible.  I do it often, and I am so good at it now. I can say life is sweet because of this charming Roma. Oh! How did I allow myself to accept that spilling blood of the innocent is an honorable thing in the sight of God? Oh! I must have been blind, stupid, mad and senseless. I must have been a fool to the core to have believed. I must have been a monkey. Why did I embark on the mission in the first place, if I was not? My God! I would have killed this rare beauty, this princess who gives me kisses of life each day. I would have killed the Gipsy girl God molded, packaged and reserved for me alone. In fact, God must be a skillful sculptor. He did a perfect job in delivering the masterpiece she is.

Her tall, slender frame and her long hair, which I guessed must have been unkempt since she was born, were where her strength of attraction lay. Her clothes were mere rags. She was bare-footed and dirty. And in spite of these features years of life in squalor and abject poverty had given her the physical beauty and her inner warmth; and much of her inner glow, were filtering through and caressing my soul. I must confess I was charmed. In her eyes were youth and a longing to be loved, which struck me and aroused not my loin, but a desire to feel her and possess her. I will be most stupid not to. Possessing her is now my new mission. My gipsy girl will have to learn to speak English or Arabic, and I too have a job to do in learning her language, so that we can have verbal means we both can understand, to express and polish our love for each other. Rasheed is in this for real, and for life.

Rasheed! Yes, that is my name. I am twenty three, an American of Pakistani descent, and a man. I am the one those who sent me will now be happy to kill. They have already dialed me twice, like I all along expected, since I decided to abort their mission. Not theirs alone, but ours.

“There are always consequences for a man’s actions and decisions,” that all too familiar vicious voice, had said to me. “Rasheed, you will pay!”  It finally said and the connection went dead.

“What went wrong with your head?” My second caller had asked. His voice was calm, like he was the meekest man God had created.

“I just could not do it,” I said, daring him to speak further.

“We are not fond of brothers betraying brothers. You know that, Rasheed.” His voice was coming up now. I could feel anger filtering into it, but who cared?

“I had to do what I had to do,” I screamed, hating more than ever, any attempt to intimidate me.

“There will always be consequences!” He finally said, feeling very peeved, his tone having spoken that.

I am not afraid to be different now, and I love my Gipsy girl that makes my life worth living. God who has given me love, in his beautiful creation called life, will surely protect me. I believe this with every drop of all the blood that flows in my veins. The new Rasheed will never again be any organization’s tool for destruction, bloodshed and enhancement of any barbaric and devilish agenda. I had set off on one mission to France, a mission in which I must not return alive. I received my training in

and Romania . I never thought anything would be strong enough to stop me from detonating explosives skillfully hidden along the length of The Pole. The pole?  Yes! That is what I love to call my long, hairy and thin private part, as a matter of fact. I was glad I had succeeded in making a huge travesty of the French security details by evading it with ease. My targets were well in place, doing their job with the highest sense of duty on the Roma people to be deported. All was set. I was about to do it, my finger already on the trigger. If not that she was in the crowd. If not that I became confused in a sort of sweet way the moment I caught sight of her alluring figure. If not that a tiny voice I did not know its origin had spoken, “Want to kill your own flesh and blood?” to what I had left of my conscience. If not for God who made it all happen by choosing to bless me. Oh! How nice it is to breathe freely, stay alive and in love, with total respect for the sanctity of life. I was indeed a big fool.

My City

Gourang Shah

a crocodile’s back , a sunset sky

a dishevelled hair

stench of smell, stagnant air

sly look at the end of collyrium

merchant’s ship, blood in flower

the Don’s song in lotus land

umpteen thorns prick thy heal -

are you, my dear old City?