“It was that time of the day when ochre-like brightness stole on the earth like rays-when somewhat of an unusual scruple after a statistics talk was tossing us about; Jumbo and Slot, and myself. Jumbo was that soft spoken lad that every aura of respect hung stiff to, as though cologne. He has the lead. They have established both selves the strong picks without a tinge of doubt reposed anywhere in that crimson brick department, while every admiration was the easiest to afford on my part.
We sit on a concrete amusement bench. It owes its dense surrounding to the frangipani overhead. We sit to calculate the approximate number of talks that happen in the country. I had joined when not joining had left the realm of option. The reason they embark on this lofty adventure, I thought unwholesome, and was graciously pondering, that I join, engrossed. But their distractions of a calculation wouldn’t let me in the second premise. The first is a vouch of how our life was nothing short of scattered numbers waiting to be arranged. It was a proof of their headstrong and fearless number manoeuvring.
But the calculations we always work have patterns they follow. I write randomly in all of my book covers. Here, the numbers grow from a few tens, brushing off hundreds into several thousands as their distractions led into figures of modern bit, bytes, and kilobytes and assuming megabytes. As though beating about the number will turn things for better. I think I will begin a taunt while absorbed into them. A taunt on how wrong this and that calculation is worked; following from the random attempts. But they have this way of mingling out like slippery flesh of a new born. It was impeccable. Or maybe the taunt wouldn’t begin yet, until I was sure of the second premise.
Only a little while, I will begin to grasp the second reason; they were bothered. It was one of deep concern that will turn to taunt me instead. How there is so many of these illustrations of seminars people scurry to be in attendance, and a whole others that are left to ignore. Maybe, things will look a lot happier if I am of the slightest, positive, like Jumbo and Slot. What I see permeates the usual well fed grouse we always yelled in our rooms, backyards, streets and on transit too. It leads into stiff indissoluble love, love for Nigeria that fans grouse to dearth. At first, seeming a propaganda that needs to check the things in the head that turned hairs curly-hairs on the head of all our countrymen, including us too that want a flush.”