- The Storried Platform
MOTHERLAND – CURSED BLESSING By Solomon Taiwo
Just the other day I heard someone say, that my motherland is the bedrock of civilization. I beg to disagree and I wonder where I got it wrong. While I ponder on the beckoning question “where is the place of her children in the league of nations?” the response that comes to mind is “3rd world countries”. I ponder still, if civilization begets development, how come the source is referred to as uncivilized and underdeveloped?
A consolation tale says it was long prophesized in the story of Jacob and Esau. Of course, nature has blessed and enriched our lands but also cursed and caused us to serve the light-haired “plain” schemer till we were able to lay off the shackles according to the tale. Then I can say that my natural endowments (blessings) became my doom; a fruition of the greedy visionaries in the gown of proselyting poised as missionaries to aid their imperial associates, who made it appear as though my gluttonous nature sold me out. That I sold my birthright for a pottage of lentil stew truly. That I sold gold for brass, that I sold people for glass (mirror), dignity for pence and cutlass for pens. Substantial things were exchanged for inconsequential items while the heir to the throne was bamboozled with just an ornamental bracelet. No wonder I now pay to access what I own. What a folly!
The brain drain continues but in a euphemistic dimension. I keep hearing about scholarships for the brainiest in all fields; the best of talents scouted and exported never to return. How then do I grow, when my body is sored of multiple injuries and loss from your previous expedition and your present “aids” are driving me up the creek; rendering me Inept? My religion slurred and relegated to fetishism, my spirit damped with guilt courtesy of your evangelism. In the process, my cultural values and heritages were lost and my ego wounded. You left me in the desert and parted with my compass, at a crossroad and pulled out the signpost, in the ocean and ripped off my lifejacket. You dwelled on my chastity, yet you chastised and called me names “clans of savages with no history and heritage of their own making”
Nature hasn’t forgotten me because now I see my drenched soul enlivening, my battered spirit recuperating, and my injured body healing up. I see the light beaming out of darkness across the cloud. I see my future crystal and brimming with confidence and potentials because now I am enlightened, (thanks to you). Now that we are co-authors, the story can turn around and be told from another point of view. It can be retold of my bravery rather than cowardice. The pen you gave me gave me a voice. It is filled and running with ink to write my own story, to change my fate. Now I can champion my own course, I can shape my future with my own hands. I can write my history as I live, leaving a legacy of pride for posterity unlike that of shame told of my ancestors with your influence.
It is already happening, I see nations coming to my light again. I see myself overtaking; I am conquering your abode, recording unspoken dominance in every sector because now you apprize my stolen deities. The symbols of my culture you call relics are treasured and guarded with your very own life. Your children long to see the shores of my land. They now dance to the rhythm of my “agogo”, “bata” and “omele”. My scouted brethren are now on the threshold of your global influence. It is only a matter of time before the motherland is fully re-enthroned into her rightful position in the world; when my doom finally becomes my blessing.
By Solomon Taiwo
Just the other day I heard someone say, that my motherland is the bedrock of civilization. I beg to disagree and I wonder where I got it wrong. While I ponder on the beckoning question “where is the place of her children in the league of nations?” the response that comes to mind is “3rd world countries”. I ponder still, if civilization begets